Odds In Her Favor -- The All-Female Hunger Games
by Fialanech
Summary: The rebellion never happened, and Cato won the 74th Games. As the Fifth Quarter Quell rolls around, two female tributes will be chosen from each district to face the wrath of the Gamemakers. SYOT CLOSED
1. Prologue (Updated)

"Listen, it's going to be good, okay?"

Jannik glared at Head Gamemaker Coule as they moved down the bright white hall towards the Gamemaker's room.

"The president is concerned you've lost your touch. This is a Quarter Quell, it has to be as cr—as entertaining as possible."

"Don't they always?"

They had reached a door at the end of the hall. Coule pressed a long-fingered had to a panel on the door.

" _Authorized personnel identified."_ A robotic female voice said from the door.

It slid open.

The Gamemakers inside were hard at work, some surrounding the holographic map in the center, some working at lab tables lining the walls of the domed-roof room.

"We will need DNA from the tributes' loved ones." Jannik heard one Gamemaker say to another.

As they passed their table, the secretary gagged and covered his nose at an overpowering stench of rotting flesh.

"I think you should start by telling me what that is."

"Well, I can't spoil it all, can I?" Coule shrugged. "Let's just say it'll remind the tributes of what they have to lose if they don't play the game properly."

They had reached the hologram at the center of the room. Jannik looked at it for a long time.

"Don't you think it looks… empty?"

"The mutts haven't been added, yet." Coule pressed a button on the control panel, and red dots appeared numerously over the map. "Don't worry, the tributes won't have an easy time at all."

"They're not just supposed to have a _hard time_." Jannik was growing more frustrated by the second. "We need them to suffer."

"They will, they will." Coule said dismissively. He motioned for the secretary to follow.

In the corner of the room, a large tube filled with translucent blue liquid glowed faintly. The Gamemakers moved back as the men approached.

"Ah, my masterpiece." Coule said like an artist admiring his work.

" _That's_ a mutt?"

Inside the tube a young woman floated in the fetal position, dark hair fanning out about her head. She was painstakingly beautiful, and her face looked very familiar to Jannik.

"A model paid us in millions to have her face included in the game." Coule acknowledge his questioning look.

"That's not what I was wondering." Jannik folded his arms. "What does it _do?"_

"The cornucopia's food supplies will be rather limited this year." Coule explained. "In the center of the arena, there is an oasis. But this mutt will guard it, and the tributes will have to make a sacrifice to enter."

"How big of a sacrifice?"

"The price will increase as the game goes on. Eventually, it will cost everything, more than anyone could imagine. Rest assured, they will suffer."

"Do you think they will be willing to pay?"

"If they do not wish to starve, then I think some will." Coule said slowly. "It would be interesting to see which ones. I make the gentlest of young people turn into monsters, in these games."

He turned and smiled at the secretary.

"It's my job."

Jannik looked back at the mutt.

"And if they try to fight their way in? Do you think this mutt will be able to stand up to the force of a handful of desperate young women?"

"First of all, they are teenaged girls, not soldiers. Second of all, do you think I would make something that couldn't?" Coule sounded insulted. "Samara, show him what the mutt can do."

"Right away, sir."

Jannik watched as the tube was suddenly full of projectiles, blades spinning and whirling in the fluid, obscuring the mutt from sight. The secretary expected to see blood clouding the image, but the blades eventually sank to the bottom, disintegrating. Jannik raised his eyebrows slightly.

"Impressive. She is invincible?"

"Not quite." Coule held up one finger. "There is a way to kill this mutt, but it is a long shot. If it does happen, then the gates to the oasis will be shut forever, and all those inside will be destroyed. Painfully."

Jannik smiled.

"There you are." He clapped the other man on the back. "What else do you have to show me?"

"Well…" Coule seemed to be considering.

Jannik looked about the room. He noticed a leather-bound, old book sitting on one of the lab tables.

"What's that?"

"What's what?"

"The book."

Jannik looked back to the Gamemaker to see he suddenly looked very uncomfortable. The others were looking over their shoulders at him now.

"It's… inspiration for the arena."

"May I look?"

"No."

The secretary raised his eyebrows.

"Why not?"

"Well, I wouldn't want to give it all away."

Coule smiled again, but it did not seem to reach his eyes. Jannik started to edge towards the book.

"I'm going to look. What is it?"

"Just… stories, that's all. It's a storybook." Coule caught up with him, and then reached the book before he did, picking it up. "Old stories."

Getting more suspicious by the second, Jannik reached for the book. Coule held it out of his grip.

"Give me the book."

Coule didn't move. Jannik took a step forward, and the other moved back.

All of the Gamemakers were openly watching now. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

"Give me the book, or I will tell President Shorn you are hiding something."

Coule hesitated, and then handed it over.

"What is it?" Jannik opened it to a random page.

"I told you."

The secretary's eyes scanned the archaic language on the yellowed pages.

"Just how old is this?" he demanded.

"The translation is about… two hundred years old." Coule was not meeting his eye. "The stories had been passed down for—for centuries, or more, long, long before the world—"

" _You mean this was written before the rise of the Capitol?"_ Jannik almost shouted. " _These are myths! Do you have any idea how illegal it is for you to have this?"_

Coule tried to grab it back. There was a brief tug-o-war, and Coule, the larger of the two men, came out victorious.

"If no one's read any of this for ages, no one will know it was my inspiration." He passed it to another Gamemaker, who disappeared quickly into a side room. "The Games will be terrific, the Capitol will be happy, the president will be happy, everyone's happy except the districts and no one needs to know a thing."

"If you think I'm not going to report this—"

"So what?" Coule snapped.

"They will kill you!"

"And then what, kill my entire team? It is too late to finish another arena that would be good enough for a Quell. They will have to use this one. And what then, will they just cut out all the references to the source material and throw the tributes out there with no mutts, nothing to make this anything more than a survival contest? This is the _Hunger Games_ , no one wants to watch a pack of teenagers die from the elements, they want drama, they want _blood!_ "

Jannik stared at him for a long time.

"So what are you going to do?" Coule demanded.

The secretary sighed, looking up at the ceiling.

"Destroy the book. I won't tell her." He looked around at the other Gamemakers. "This better turn out as well as you say."

"Oh, it will." Coule watched him hurry towards the door. "And Secretary?"

"What?"

"You know, if the president finds out of this, you will die too. You know as much as I do, now."

"I know."

(Author's Note: Thank you to anyone who has read this far! I am writing the Quell with this twist partially because I want to, partially because I have noticed other SYOTs struggle to gain male tributes. I have already decided on an arena for these Games and I will begin writing as soon as I have enough slots filled. The form will be located on my profile, please submit it through private messaging. In the interest of getting started as quickly as possible, the last eight open slots will automatically go to bloodbath tributes, whose points of view I am not going to write in. If you submit a tribute, I will very likely accept. There WILL probably still be one or two romances. I am committed to seeing this story through! Thank you again for reading, and I look forward to seeing what tributes will be participating in these Games!)

( **UPDATED: Yes, due to more than one bad review, I did choose to remove the original prologue. This scene was intended to follow, but I think it fits well in its place. There are still 18 open slots and the form is on my profile, so please keep submitting!)**


	2. The List So Far

Hello! Just a reminder that there are still many spots left in this SYOT! All submissions are appreciated. Thanks to all who have already sent me tributes.

Tributes:

District One  
Tribute One: RESERVED  
Tribute Two: RESERVED

District Two  
Tribute One:  
Tribute Two:

District Three  
Tribute One: Katana Wilde  
Tribute Two:

District Four  
Tribute One:  
Tribute Two:

District Five  
Tribute One: Rosalinda Fratter  
Tribute Two:

District Six  
Tribute One:  
Tribute Two:

District Seven  
Tribute One:  
Tribute Two:

District Eight  
Tribute One: RESERVED  
Tribute Two:

District Nine  
Tribute One: RESERVED  
Tribute Two:Lemon Samara

District Ten  
Tribute One:  
Tribute Two:

District Eleven  
Tribute One:  
Tribute Two:

District Twelve  
Tribute One:  
Tribute Two:


	3. An Updated List

Here is an updated list of tributes. Almost half the slots are still not filled so anyone who would like to submit one is still welcome!

Tributes:

District One  
Tribute One: RESERVED  
Tribute Two: Bian Teng

District Two  
Tribute One: Anastasia Styx  
Tribute Two:

District Three  
Tribute One: Katana Wilde  
Tribute Two:

District Four  
Tribute One:RESERVED  
Tribute Two:Charlotte-Julia Mayweather

District Five  
Tribute One: Rosalinda Fratter  
Tribute Two:

District Six  
Tribute One:  
Tribute Two:

District Seven  
Tribute One: Yiangliu Laoying  
Tribute Two: Willow Clark

District Eight  
Tribute One: RESERVED  
Tribute Two:

District Nine  
Tribute One: RESERVED  
Tribute Two:Lemon Samara

District Ten  
Tribute One:  
Tribute Two:

District Eleven  
Tribute One: Berry Sanchez  
Tribute Two:

District Twelve  
Tribute One:  
Tribute Two:


	4. Semi-final List

**Last call for tributes!**

Hello again! This will be my last post before the story begins for real. If anyone would still like to submit a tribute, the list with the open spots is below. I am hoping to post the chapter with the first three reapings tonight. Thank you all!

Tributes:

District One  
Tribute One: Aurora Lane  
Tribute Two: Bian Teng

District Two  
Tribute One: Anastasia Styx  
Tribute Two: Jewel Mende

District Three  
Tribute One: Katana Wilde  
Tribute Two: Adeline Crothers

District Four  
Tribute One:RESERVED  
Tribute Two:Charlotte-Julia Mayweather

District Five  
Tribute One: Rosalinda Fratter  
Tribute Two: Delilah Halo

District Six  
Tribute One: Sony Savera  
Tribute Two: Kyva Savera

District Seven  
Tribute One: Yiangliu Laoying  
Tribute Two: Willow Clark

District Eight  
Tribute One: Charlotte Flannel  
Tribute Two:

District Nine  
Tribute One: Maisie Pearl  
Tribute Two:Lemon Samara

District Ten  
Tribute One: Maire Stallion  
Tribute Two: Apate Pendragon

District Eleven  
Tribute One: Berry Sanchez  
Tribute Two: Rosie Husk

District Twelve  
Tribute One:  
Tribute Two:


	5. District One Reapings and Goodbyes

_A_ URORA LANE

 _It's okay. I'm ready._

Rory Lane repeated the mantra to herself over and over, staring at her face in the mirror of her bedroom, hoping it would not look this pale when she went downstairs. In the background, early morning light glittered off the weapons rack in the back of the room, swords and spears hanging on the pink wall near her bed.

She pushed a final pin into her dark brown hair; stepping back to be sure her dress was in order. On the way to the door, she stepped into black leather shoes, shined until their reflections were clear as mirrors.

Before she turned off the lights, something made her stop.

 _This might be the last time I ever see my room._

Rory forced the thought to the back of her mind. No, of course it was not. She was ready.

All the same, she turned around and looked all around the room, trying to take in every detail. She flicked off the light and made her way downstairs, heels clacking on the shiny wood floor.

In the hallway, there hung a picture of her father, although much younger, shaking hands with President Snow. The late President was an old man at that point, wheelchair-bound and wrinkled beyond recognition, and her father was sixteen, as she was now. Along the bottom of the photo read the caption: Arcus Lane, District One, Victor of the 95th Annual Hunger Games.

And at the bottom of the stairs, he was waiting for her, silver-haired and proud, one hand resting casually on a cane. Her mother stood beside him, beaming.

Rory felt her face break into a half-involuntary smile.

"Do we have time to eat breakfast?" her mother looked at the clock.

"I'm not hungry." Rory said quickly.

Her mother looked slightly taken aback, but her father laughed.

"Look how pale you are." He took her chin in his hand. "I was the same way before I volunteered. Don't worry, just remember your training."

Rory realized her smile had failed, and then made herself fix it.

On the way out to the car, she suddenly realized her mother was talking to her.

"You should volunteer as soon as they take the slip out of the bowl. Now, since there's two girls this year, you'll get a second chance if someone beats you to it, but all the same, volunteer straight away—"

"I _will_."

Rory realized she had spoken a lot louder than she meant to. Her father looked at her in the rearview mirror.

"Make us proud." He smiled.

JEMIMA SINCLAIR

"Checkmate."

Jemima's father raised his eyebrows as her small hand took away the chess piece from the nearly empty board, and then smiled.

"Very good, Jemima." He began to get up.

"Play again?" She asked without looking up from the board. Her fingers played with the long braid hanging over her shoulder, long enough to coil onto the table.

He hesitated.

"It's time for breakfast now. We can play again this afternoon."

"Not time yet." Jemima slowly pointed at the clock on the wall.

"It's… an early breakfast."

Her father spoke kindly, but more uncomfortably by the second. He could see his daughter's face reddening quickly, and knew she was going to scream- there had been fewer meltdowns in the few years that Jemima had been playing chess, but even the slightest change in schedule could finish one—

Just as the earsplitting sound seemed to rattle the pieces left on the board, the door opened quickly, and Jemima's mother entered.

"It's okay, it's okay!" She set down a tray on the table beside the board. "We can eat in here."

Not touching the food, Jemima began putting the chess pieces back in order. Her parents looked at each other.

Her autism diagnosis came when she was three years old. The years since had been… difficult, although Jemima was exceedingly brilliant at math, as could be seen from the papers on the walls covered in equations, and the markings on the small folding chalkboard in the corner.

This would be Jemima's first ever reaping. It was going to be interesting at best- she was used to standing beside them in the back, not up front with the other twelve-year-olds. Changes of routine were always treacherous.

At the very least, she would not be Reaped. Not only was it a Career District on a Quarter Quell—so many young girls would be vying for the victor's glory—but Jemima was twelve and had taken no tesserae. There was not a chance she'd be chosen.

THE REAPING

Silvester Augustus took his time strolling up to the microphone, eyeing the crowd.

This was District One, so there was substantial applause. Nothing like the Capitol, but nothing like the likes of District Twelve, where the Capitol was so hated there would be almost no sound at all.

Only the female children were standing where potential tributes would normally stand this year. A single large bowl stood on a shining pedestal in the center, filled with the small white slips. Silvester knew there would be hardly a point in reading out the names—in a District like this, there would be a volunteer before the sound even left his lips.

"District One." He spoke into the microphone, and the applause grew louder, before dying down. "Welcome to the opening of the 125th annual Hunger Games, and the fifth Quarter Quell!"

Another burst of applause. He waved his hands to quiet it, and this time it took a minute.

"I see plenty of lovely young ladies out there eager to represent our fine district…" He scanned the eighteen year olds' section. Lots of prospects, but he could not see which ones it would be yet. "So let's get on with in."

He again took his time moving to the shining glass bowl, pulling a piece of folded paper out with a flourish.

"Jewel F—"

"I volunteer!"

Silvester smiled as he saw one girl coming up to the front of the crowd, and then beginning to climb to the stage. The camera focused on her, broadcasting dark hair and eyes with familiar features on the screens above his head and across Panem.

"My name is Aurora Lane." She said into the microphone, and while Silvester noted her confident stance, her voice wavered ever so slightly. "My father was the victor of the 95th Hunger Games. I'm here to carry on the family tradition. And I'm ready."

There was something about how she said those last words that made Silvester pause. He shook it off and smiled.

"Thank you, Miss Lane." He tugged the microphone back, and then said in a lower voice: "Save it for your interview, dear."

He put the microphone back towards his mouth.

"And now, for the second."

He reached into the bowl, glancing at the crowd.

Nothing. He pulled out the paper, trying not to make his pause to inconspicuous.

"Jemima Sinclair."

Silence.

 _What is going on? This is District One, there must be a volunteer!_

The silence continued. Silvester cleared his throat again.

"Jemima Sinclair?"

The crowd of twelve-year-olds was beginning to part. One stood in the middle, looking at the ground.

Silvester had seen a lot of twelve-year-olds chosen for the Games— from other districts. But this was District _One_ , for crying out loud. There should have been a volunteer. She should have been safe.

"Jemima?" He leaned into the microphone again. "Come up, please."

There was no response from the girl. A whisper was starting to run through the crowd. There was good drama and bad drama in this business, Silvester thought: a tearful sibling or parent rushing out to grab their loved one, only to be pried away, that was good drama, moving. But a tribute outright refusing to come on stage?

He nodded to the Peacekeepers. They reached the girl in seconds.

She bolted, fast. He had never seen a twelve-year-old girl run that fast, weaving in and out of people, but going nowhere in particular.

The Peacekeepers caught her from the end of her braid, and she squealed, fighting valiantly, but her feet were lifted off the ground. They carried her, still shrieking and fighting, up to the stage. Silvester could hear a woman crying, but scanning the crowd again, could not see her.

"Well, I think these are our tributes." He put his smile back on, speaking over the smaller girl's repetitive, ear-splitting cries. "Shake hands now."

Aurora hesitated, and then offered her hand to Jemima. The other girl refused, staring at her feet.

"Thank you all for attending." Silvester said into the microphone. "And as always, may the odds be ever in your favor."

AURORA LANE

Aurora looked up, beaming, as both of her parents entered the room.

They hugged her at once, both of them, nearly lifting her off her feet. Her mother stroked her hair as they released her.

"I knew you'd do it." she whispered.

Aurora let her mother kiss both of her cheeks as she looked at her father.

"I think the Career pack will be one short this year."

"Well, make sure _you_ join them." He said, with a touch of sternness, before laughing.

Aurora nodded. Her father pulled a case with a disk in it out of his pocket.

"My Games." He pressed it into her hand. "Watch it on the train."

"Dad, I've seen your Games a million times."

"Watch it again." He urged. "I added some annotations, voiced over."

She looked at the cover.

"Can we not talk about the Games?" she asked softly. "We don't have long."

Her parents looked at each other.

"Are you afraid you won't come back?" her mother asked.

"Of course not!" Her father clapped her on the back. "Winning is in her blood."

He squeezed her shoulder for another moment.

"Milk this for all it's worth." He told her. "Two victors in a row from the same family? The Capitol would go wild. And that's what they want, they want a story."

"You'll have sponsors." Her mother assured her. "We know all sorts of people in the Capitol. You're a high profile tribute, so they'll pay you special attention."

"Time's up." A Peacekeeper knocked on the door.

"Remember what we said."

Aurora's heart jolted as her parents began moving back towards the door. She resisted the urge to reach for them, waving weakly.

"Be strong. It's in your blood. We love you!"

The door shut behind them.

JEMIMA SINCLAIR

"Please. There must be some mistake."

"There was no mistake, ma'am."

"Why was there not a volunteer? This isn't supposed to happen in this district!"

"Ma'am, what happened was within the rules of the Games."

Jemima sat on the couch in the plush room, knees drawn up to her chest, facing the door. Her throat was raw and her face still tear-streaked, but she was quiet now, occupying herself by counting everything in the room.

She could not tell why her mother was still crying. All she knew was that she had to go and play a game. Such a sudden uprooting of routine was devastating to her, but she had never seen her mother cry over such a thing.

There were sixteen lighting fixtures around the room. 137 boards of luxurious dark wood making up the floor.

"You may see her, if you want. There is not much time."

"O-of course we want to see her!"

There was a pause, before the door opened, and her parents burst in, reaching the chair in a second. Jemima gladly let them hug her, although she did not look up or hug them back.

They pulled back and looked at her face.

"Jemima…" Her father's voice trailed off.

"How long until I come back?"

Jemima thought it was a simple question, but suddenly her mother burst into tears, leaning into her father's shoulder.

"Why is Mommy sad?"

She realized her father was wiping his eyes as well, before taking a deep breath.

"Jemima…" His voice quivered as he began again. "When you get to the Capitol, soon after, they're going to put you in an arena. And there'll be a countdown, and when it gets to the bottom… you run. Run as fast as you can, the other way from everyone else, okay?"

Jemima did not respond.

"We love you." Her mother finally said. "We love you, so much."

"Love you too."

Both seemed taken aback at her sudden response. Her mother breathed in slowly, and then steadied herself.

"They let you take one thing in." She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket, holding it out to Jemima. The girl hesitated before taking it, holding it close to her eyes. It was the white queen from her chessboard, wrapped in a page torn out of one of the worn-out books on her shelf, Alice in Wonderland. "I-I brought it along, just in case."

"Why would you even—"

Jemima's father's voice fell flat as he shook his head. She still stared at the chess piece.

The Peacekeeper knocked on the door.

"Time is up."

"Jemima!" Her mother's voice grew louder with panic. Jemima's heart jolted. "Please don't panic when you get there, people will want to talk to you, there'll be crowds, please, you have a chance, I know you do—"

The doors open, and two Peacekeepers came inside.

"Time's _up_."

Her mother grabbed for her hand, just as a Peacekeeper took hold of either one. The woman held tight to her daughter, and Jemima watched their hands being stretched and stretched, until both were finally torn apart.

"My baby!" her mother called out as both were pulled towards the door. "No—"

The doors shut, muffling the raised voices outside. Jemima turned back towards the window.

She didn't think she wanted to play this game.


	6. District Two Reapings and Goodbyes

ANASTASIA STYX

It was a cloudy day in District Two, the sky completely white like a piece of paper. All the businesses had been closed for the day. Anastasia's alarm went off in the morning, a loud, jarring sound.

She peeled herself out of bed, her dark hair sticking to her forehead with sweat in the muggy air.

"You're up to early, you don't even have to train today."

Wiping her forehead, Anastasia looked down at her girlfriend, where she lay with her hair fanned out next to her.

"Stay here with me." Derzela reached up to tug Anastasia's arm.

"I have to go."

There was a pause, before the other let go, and Anastasia trudged towards the shower.

She did not look at her body as she undressed and washed, and was thankful for the steam covering the mirror when she exited, dressing as quickly as possible.

"Where are you going?" Derzela mumbled as she passed through the bedroom on the way to the kitchen.

"Out."

"Love you."

She could hear what Derzela had said, but did not respond.

There was a little orange bottle in the cupboard, marked simply with the letter _E_. She downed two with a gulp of water, and not feeling like eating anything else, left the apartment, climbing the stairs down to the clean but narrow street.

It was early, but already noisy as the final decorations for the Reaping were going up.

She didn't tell Derzela, but of course she was going to train again. Anastasia wasn't even quite sure why she wanted to enter the Games— it was certainly not to follow in her parents' footsteps. She was dead to them as far as she knew.

It was certainly something about watching her older brother and sister die in the Games. Perhaps she only wanted to show them just how damn wrong they were for making her leave.

Her little sisters were just as bad. They were already terrified of her, of course, after what they had done to her she wouldn't have in any other way. She would certainly think of them when she was in the arena, when her sword was cutting flesh, specifically.

Anastasia was so lost in thought that she hardly noticed she had passed onto a mostly empty street, or that two men had started to approach from behind.

"Where you goin', sweetie?"

"Fuck off." She muttered under her breath, speeding up.

But they were catching up with her, and she turned to face them, her hands curling into fists in her pockets.

"Where you goin'?" the first one, tall and skinny with an unpleasantly greasy face, moved closer. He was too close, but Anastasia did not back down, nor did she flinch at his foul breath.

"To practice killing people with a sword." She snapped back.

"You gonna volunteer today?" His friend asked in a nasal voice.

"Yes, as a matter of fact." She tried to turn away.

Her heart jolted in fear and then rage as the nearest man grabbed her arm, turning her back.

"You're too lil' and cute for that, girl." He drawled.

"Not if I win." She yanked her arm out of his grip and turned to move on again.

"Hey, I'm talkin' to you, bitch!"

As if in slow motion, he missed her hair and caught the end of her scarf, and for one horrifying moment, Anastasia thought he was going to strangle her.

But then, worse—the scarf came off.

"What the fuck?!" The second man yelped suddenly. "That's a dude!"

Anastasia whirled around, grabbing at the scarf. There was a brief tug-o-war, but she came out winning, wordlessly running away. At least this time, they did not follow her.

" _So do you have a dick too?_ " She heard one of them yell from behind.

Anastasia put the scarf back on as she slowed to a walk, concealing the Adam's apple that was indeed very visible.

" _That's someone's son!"_

Her trainer found her at the academy an hour later, in the outdoor training area. The place was bloody and stuck with feathers. Some unfortunate bird had flown into the ring and become the victim of her rage instead, and the point of her sword was red and shiny.

"It's time for the Reaping." His hand squeezed her shoulder. "Come on, Anten."

JEWEL MENDE

Jewel eyed the people entering the square for the Reaping. More specifically, she eyed the 18 year olds.

They were the ones who would try to volunteer, she knew, and she tried to guess which, since the art of predicting one's main opponent was one of the biggest lessons she had learned in her 15 years. Most of the girls filing into place at the front of the square were fit and tough-looking. No one was jumping out at her yet—

Her small frame was suddenly knocked off balance as someone shoved her into the people next to her, one of who gave a shout in anger.

"Watch it!" the one who'd shoved her snapped as she passed.

Jewel stood up. She watched the other girl make her way towards the 18 year olds' section. She was the same height as Jewel, though clearly older, and muscular, wearing a scarf although it was hot. Her mind flitted over possible reasons for the scarf, watching the black-haired girl embrace one who was already there, before her attention was drawn back to the stage.

She took her place in the section of 15 year olds, in between the faces of two girls she did not know. It was only those she knew from the Career academy that she knew at all, and friends were not really her thing, as they took time away from training.

"Uh, hello." The girl next to her said. "What's your name?"

Jewel looked at her questioningly, but the girl seemed sincere.

"Jewel."

The other laughed.

"That sounds like a District One name."

"Well, we were transferred here."

Jewel did not show that they transferred to gain access to the superior training academy in District Two. She knew her father, previously rich, had fallen far from his fortunes, and that she needed to volunteer, now, and win, if they were going to keep pretending his company had not failed. Not that he _wanted_ her to volunteer…

The bankruptcy was years in the making, and she knew her father was taking out loan after loan, trying to stay afloat until she was eighteen at least, until she was too old to enter the Games.

"I'm Slice. You can tell my folks wanted me to go into the Games, but with my asthma and all—"

Jewel tried to tune her out. She knew her father didn't really _want_ her to go into the Games, but she dreamed of it all the same. As a matter of fact, it was her idea to train for the Games as a last ditch effort to avoid being absolutely penniless.

"Jewel." He paused when they had entered the car in the morning. "Do not volunteer today."

Jewel looked at him.

"What have I been training for, then?" She asked quietly.

He breathed in, slowly.

"I thought you would change your mind."

"I didn't."

"Jewel, your mother wouldn't want you to do this."

She did not respond.

"I want to do this."

"You don't have to."

"But I _want_ to."

That was something he could never understand. How could he not know how _glorious_ it was to be the winner of the Games? To not have to worry about a thing ever again?

"Say, why don't I know you from school?" Slice looked at her sideways, and Jewel realized she had been babbling away the whole time.

"Homeschooled."

"Oh."

She had simply never been enrolled in a real school. Private school was too expensive to consider, and public school was out of the question if they were to keep their charade up. He had let her train, reluctantly, when she told him that she wanted to be an instructor if she could not go to the Games. And as much as he cared he did not have time to teach her, so Jewel supposed a better label would be self-schooled, with a focus on practicing what she had learned in training academy.

"Oh, look, it's starting!" Slice jumped up suddenly.

Jewel looked up to the stage.

FRIA SHORT

Fria Short absolutely hated her job.

She was bordering on 100 years old, not that anyone _knew_ that, as her passport listed her as 50 years old, and her many surgeries gave her the appearance of a slightly frail 35 year old.

It also gave her a near-permanent smile. She could stop smiling, of course, when she tried, but if she relaxed her face, the corners of her mouth would turn up.

She was one of the few survivors of the original conspirators for the second rebellion, that which never happened. It never got past the planning phase, and the 74th Games had a completely unremarkable Career victor, and Fria had watched her co-conspirators be picked off, one by one, as she remained anonymous, never captured.

And so she ironically announced for the District she despised, for the Games she despised.

District Two loved her. And for all they knew, she loved them just as much. So she welcomed them to the opening of the Games, feeling nearly deafened by their cheers.

"Now," She tried to add some sincerity to her smile. "For the first lovely lady to represent this great District in the 125th annual Hunger Games—"

"I VOLUNTEER!"

Fria closed her eyes briefly. The girl whooped loudly, pushing her way through the crowds to run up to the stage.

"What's your name?" Fria held out the microphone.

"My name is Anastasia Styx." The volunteer declared.

She was about to say something else, but Fria yanked back the microphone.

"And now for the second…"

"I volunteer!"

Another one, just the same. Fria's eyes went to the 18 year old's section, but the only movement was happening in that of the 15 year olds: a small girl peeled herself out of the crowd, making her way up the stairs to the stage.

"Jewel Mende." That girl said much more quietly into the microphone.

Fria took it back, smiling even wider than normal.

"Shake hands." She whispered at the tributes.

She watched Jewel grit her teeth, trying not to show pain as Anastasia crushed her hand.

 _Here we go again._

"Thank all of you for your attention, and, as always, may the odds be ever in your favor."

ANASTASIA STYX

It was a while before Derzela came to see her. She shut the door behind her, turning to face her girlfriend with a sudden smile.

They collided in the middle of the room, wrapping their arms around each other.

"So you're going." Derzela spoke first.

"Is my family not coming?" Anastasia asked.

Derzela pulled back without letting go, looking at her face.

"I… don't think so." She said. "They said it didn't change anything."

Anastasia thought she should feel hurt, or abandoned, or something, but instead felt nothing.

"I can't really blame them."

"They're you're family." Derzela finally let go.

"So?"

Anastasia realized she had raised her voice, and then stopped.

"So what do I do if you lose?"

" _Derzela!"_

"I'm serious!" she insisted.

Anastasia leaned back and looked at the ceiling.

"I suppose it's too late for me to dig out my birth certificate so you can marry me."

"And that would help…how?"

"Well, I'm hoping my folks haven't completely written me out of the will yet." Anastasia shrugged, grinning. "Derzela, I'm going to win. It's going to be fine."

"Time's up." A Peacekeeper poked his head through the door.

"What? I've been in here a minute!"

"You came late. It's time to go."

Derzela looked back at Anastasia. She leaned forward, kissing her on the lips, and was nearly out the door before Anastasia realized she had forgotten to kiss back.

After Derzela left, the guard looked back at Anastasia for a long moment.

"Thought these were supposed to be the all-female Games?" He said before shutting the door.

Anastasia spat, watching it close.

JEWEL MENDE

"What did you do?"

"Dad—"

"Oh god, Jewel, what did you _do?_ "

She watched her father in front of her, breaking down on the chair opposite, face in his hands.

"It's going to help." She said softly. "I'm trying to help. We'll get money."

"Jewel you could _die…_ "

"I'm better trained than most of the tributes in there." Jewel told him.

"You are _fifteen_ years old."

"So what? I train twice as hard as the 18 year old Careers."

"Your mother wouldn't want you to die at fifteen years old…"

"I'm not going to die." Jewel insisted.

" _Jewel_!"

Her father suddenly grabbed her shoulders, shaking them roughly. "This is serious! Do you know where you're _going?"_

"Don't act like I don't know what the Games are!" Jewel finally found herself arguing back. "Don't do that! Twenty three of us are going to die, I know!"

She grabbed him by the shoulders now.

"But one of us gets to live." She said, her voice quieting again. "And that one does not have to worry about anything ever again. It's perfect after. I have to try. I'm going to win."

Her father stared at her for a long while, unable to respond.

The Peacekeepers took him away soon. Jewel called out to tell him she loved him, but her voice caught in her throat.


	7. Update Regarding Late Update

Update for my readers: I have not abandoned this story. I am simply loaded down with schoolwork. I hope to get another chapter or two out during this week.

I hope this message finds you well.

-Fialanech


	8. District Three Reapings and Goodbyes

**KAT WILDE**

Kat Wilde woke up to the feeling of something crawling on her leg.

She resisted jumping up and flailing, if only not to knock Angel, her four-year old sister, off the twin bed they shared and onto the floor. She slowly opened one eye.

"What is it?" Angel murmured sleepily.

"A new puppy."

Kat eyed the rat as it sniffed over the threadbare blanket over the bed.

"Really?" Angel was still half asleep, although her voice was suddenly excited.

Kat sat up slowly, reaching out without making any sudden movements. Suddenly her hand shot out and grabbed the rat by the tail, carrying it squealing to the window.

She pushed the curtains open. The slums of District 3 were apartments piled one on top of the other around winding streets narrow enough that if one stretched their arms out to both sides, they would be able to touch either wall. The sounds of whirring electric equipment made a constant hum, and colorful wiring crept up and down the crumbling buildings.

Kat threw the rat out the window of their fourth story apartment. It shrieked as it landed with a thud, and someone swore loudly. She shut the window.

"No. Come on." She went back over to where her sister was sleeping. "I'll get you that puppy someday. Promise."

She helped Angel out of bed, taking her hand and leading her out into the small kitchen.

Her grandmother, Elna, was sitting at the table, the only clean thing in the room, the newspaper open to the classifieds in front of her.

"Looking for a job?"

Kat went to look in the fridge. It was pretty bare, since her grandmother having lost another job they had been relying on Kat's paychecks for the past few weeks. She finally closed it, dejected, and took a box of cereal and three bowls out of the cupboard.

"I think we're out of milk." She poured out a carefully minded portion into each of them. "But—"

She stopped. Neither Angel nor Elna knew that a plan had been forming in her head for the past few weeks.

"But I'm getting paid in three days." She said a little more brightly. "I'll get groceries then."

"The rent, dear." Her grandmother chided.

"Oh, right."

Kat chewed the dry cereal worriedly. The food in the house was dwindling, but her job at the factory was just enough to cover rent.

"Well, I'll ask Lex if she'll rehire you." She turned to Elna and said.

Her grandmother snorted, and Kat let the matter drop.

They finished their cereal in silence.

"We should go get dressed." Kat stood up, holding out her hand for Angel again.

"I thought there was no school or work today?" Angel grumbled, following her sister back into the bedroom. "You said you'd play a game with me."

"There isn't. And we can play a game after, but first we have to go to the square."

She looked in the closet, pulling out one of her grandmother's dresses and turning around, holding it up to herself and posing. Angel laughed, and Kat finally smiled properly.

She put the dress back and pulled out one of her own, and one for Angel.

"Angel, how would you like if I was on TV?" Kat said teasingly, but kept her voice down so that their grandmother couldn't hear.

Angel widened her eyes.

"We don't have a TV."

"But lots of people do. I'd be famous." She knelt down on her sister's level. "It's too scary of a show for you to watch anyway, but I might come back with tons of money—"

The little girl's eyes widened even more.

"Then we could get a little house? And a puppy?"

"Definitely." Kat nodded. "But listen, would you be okay with Grandma just for a few weeks, while I went to be on the show?"

The little girl stood up straight, nodding.

"That'd be swell." She announced.

"Good." Kat smiled at her, ruffling her hair. "Don't tell Grandma."

 **ADELLINDE CROTHERS**

"Are we going to go, or not?"

Adellinde Crothers came down the steps of the small house, the walls of which were rippled with wires under the wallpapers. The many screens in the living room, turned off now, reflected her light hair and unremarkable features as she crossed it, putting her hand on the door to the kitchen.

It did not creak as it opened. Peering through the crack, she saw her parents, and a dark-eyed man she did not recognize standing over the table, tablets and keyboards littering the top, whispering intently.

"What's going on?" Adel asked loudly.

All three seemed to jump. The screens were off in seconds, disappearing into the man's bag.

"We are, honey." Her mother smiled at her. "But Mr Gamma here's brought his car, so we don't have to for another half hour yet."

"Oh." Adel's eyes moved questioningly to the man.

"I am your father's friend from work." He said smoothly, almost like a recitation.

"I didn't ask. But thanks for the ride."

There was a long silence in the kitchen. Adel's father turned to Gamma.

"Hell, there's still time for a drink. I wired another screen on the back porch, you should come see it."

"I would like to." Gamma replied in the same voice.

Adel watched the adults take a beer each from the fridge and make their way out back. The door closed behind them.

Her eyes fell on the stranger's bag.

Half an hour was plenty of time. Adel snuck over to it although no one was in earshot, constantly looking over her shoulder.

She unzipped the bag, pulled out a tablet, put it under her shirt, and zipped the bag back up again, being sure to put it back in the right position. She hesitated. Was that where it was? What if he picked up the bag before he left and realized it was lighter—

She hurried upstairs with the tablet cold against her skin, rushing back into the room and shutting the door behind her.

Her laptop was open on her desk. Adel let it boot up as she dug a cord out of a box in her closet, connecting the tablet to it and turning it on as well.

A six-number password was required to open the device. Wondering what would happen if Gamma came through the door right now, she clicked on a nondescript program on the computer's desktop, the name of which was just a keysmash.

She had to watch the clock. But Adel's mind wandered as the program ran through six-number password combinations, trying to find the one to unlock the tablet. She'd written the program with a group of friends, but had never used it so… unscrupulously... until now.

There was a _beep_ as the computer indicated it had found the correct passcode. The contents of the tablet were coming up on her screen.

It took a while for Adel to take it all in. Her eyes flitted over and over the screen, until finally the realization began to hit. In front of her were maps of Capitol buildings, weapon supplies, orders for spies and even an assassination order…

She stared at that last for the longest, she didn't know exactly how long. That death had been in the news. A Gamemaker, not the Head, but one known especially for cruelty, had died by accident, tumbling down a flight of stairs. But this was saying it was not an accident at all.

This was the most illegal thing she had ever done, and its illegality just tripled. She wasn't using any sort of software to hide what was happening on her computer. She knew the Capitol had ways of checking all of them for nefarious activity. For all an agent would know seeing this, _she_ was a revolutionary too.

Her heart nearly stopped again. This tablet was on the table when she had seen her parents talking to Gamma. They were involved with rebels.

 _How could they be so stupid?_ Adel knew what would happen if they were caught. She'd be tortured and killed right along with them, everyone knew that. It was not that she didn't hate the Capitol. She did, vehemently, and would say so, in the company of certain people. But _this_?

"Adel? It's time to go!"

 _Shit!_ She had lost track of time. There was no way to put the tablet back in the bag now. Adel jumped up, her heart pounding, and feeling as if she was sealing her fate, hid it under her sheets. She directed the computer to wipe itself, deleting every bit of data it contained. There was no telling what else the tablet had downloaded onto the system.

"What took so long?" Her mother asked as she came down the stairs.

"Nothing."

"Are you afraid?"

"Definitely."

 **MATHIAS SHORN**

The District Three square was much smaller than that in some other districts. The people filled the roads that branched off like wires.

Mathias Shorn drew his overcoat around himself even tighter. It was not the most fashionable thing for a District escort to wear, for all its buttons and ruffles, but it was sterile. As a matter of fact, nothing alive would go anywhere near it.

This was a punishment, he knew. President Shorn despised him, her estranged nephew, who would have as little to do with the Games as possible, and the same went for most of Capitol life.

It was nothing to do with opposition to the Games! He had always insisted so. As a matter of fact, the more often these filthy people were taught a lesson, the better, he thought, but no matter how often he reminded her of the definition of the word _phobia_ , she still did not budge.

And as for phobias, he certainly had them. He was a germophobe, and most certainly an emetophobe, and _definitely_ a haemophobe— there were probably more, but the people who had the rare occasion to be around him soon learned that if it came from a human body, he wanted it ten miles away from him, so there was little need to diagnose the rest.

 _"_ _And that's why I don't watch the Games, okay?_ " He remembered telling his stately, disapproving aunt, before she sentenced him to, well, this.

At least it wasn't District Twelve. That was his sole consolation as he approached the microphone, carefully wiped it off with the antiseptic he kept in his pocket, and gave the opening address.

The people of District Three were mostly average-looking, but Mathias could see the microbes crawling on them. All those touch-screens, computer mice and keyboards that were never cleaned between uses— he shuddered just thinking about it.

It was finally time to choose the tributes. Mathias approached the bowl full of names, and reached in with a gloved hand, holding the paper away from his body as he unfolded it.

The crowd had fallen silent before he'd even said anything. The murmur of voices was fading away. Mathias looked up just in time to her a young girl repeat herself:

"I volunteer."

That was unexpected. Mathias watched curiously as the cameras turned on her, and the face of a girl with cheaply dyed bright red hair, dark roots showing, picked her way through the crowd up to the podium.

There was a sound of a child cheering in the silence, but that child was quickly hushed.

"Kat Wilde." The girl said into the microphone with a failing smile.

Mathias nodded, tossing the paper he held aside and pulling out another.

"Adellinde Crothers."

It was a while before the cameras found her, showing the most average-looking human being that Mathias had ever seen. She was giggling at the Peacekeeper who was escorting her to the stage, not in a vapid way, but in a way of a terrified person cracking jokes for distraction. He even felt a slight twinge of pity as she was led up next to the redhead.

"Right." He swallowed hard. "Shake hands, and let's be done with it."

The girls did so, looking at each other cautiously.

Mathias was about to flee, and had reached the door to backstage by the time he realized his part was not yet finished.

"Oh right." He ran back to the microphone, wiping it off again. "And may you all have good luck."

Cheeks burning, he took his leave, head held as high as he dared.

"When my aunt calls, tell her I'm sick." He muttered to his assistant as she stood shaking her head by the door.

 **KAT WILDE**

"Kaaaat!"

Angel ran into the small visiting room, into her sister's arms.

"You were on the screen!"

"I know!" Kat put on another smile. "And I'm going to be on TV, too…"

Her voice failed as her grandmother came inside, looking much less excited.

"Angel, kiss your sister goodbye."

Angel gave Kat a kiss on the cheek. Kat hugged her back, kissing her forehead.

"I love you." She said as sincerely as she possibly could.

"I love you too." Angel said obliviously.

"Good." Her grandmother said stiffly. "Go wait with the nice policeman outside."

Angel got up and left. The door closed behind her.

"Stupid." Elna whacked Kat with her purse. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

"H-hey!" Kat held up her arms in defence.

"Do you have any idea what you have done?" The old woman demanded.

"Look, I know it's a long shot." Kat said defensively. "But it's our _only_ shot."

"Is it?" Elna demanded. "I thought we were doing fine!"

"Look." Kat took a deep breath. "Lex will probably give you another chance at the factory if you just swallow your pride and go back."

Elna laughed humorlessly.

"You'll have my spot now." Kat continued. "You'll be able to support Angel on your own, then."

"You know I can't keep a job."

"You know if you payed attention and didn't argue with the supervisors you could!" Kat said frustratedly.

"Is this happening?" Elna demanded. "Are you committing suicide for us?"

"It's not suicide." Kat insisted. "I have a chance."

"A tiny one." Elna said. "It looks like I'm going to find out from the neighbours when it happens. Angel can't watch that."

And with that, she left.

 **ADELLINDE CROTHERS**

Adel looked up. Her parents came in through the door, with Mr Gamma trailing on their heels.

"I don't want him here." She said bluntly.

There was a moment before the man left, slinking out through a half-closed door.

She looked at both of them. They tried to hug her, and she did not hug back at first, and finally did, but reluctantly.

"Were you ever going to tell me?"

She felt her mother's heart jump.

"Tell you what, darling?"

"What you do with him?" She lowered her voice even more. "The files, on the tablet in his bag?"

Both parents pulled back, looking at her in horror. They both started talking at once.

"Darling, we didn't tell you because it's not safe—"

"We didn't want to put you at any more risk—"

"You've always supported rebels—"

"Yeah, when they aren't you guys!" Adel nearly shouted, and then took a deep breath. She returned to whispering. "If you'd gotten caught?"

Her father looked down and shook his head.

"You know if they find out about this, they'll make sure I die for certain?!"

Both of her parents looked at her. She knew what they were thinking—that she didn't have a chance anyway.

Adel felt her face crumple, and the three of them collapsed together, crying in a heap on the couch.

"Okay. Okay. If I go, you have to keep fighting them, okay?" Adel choked out. "When I'm gone. Just start again when I'm gone."

"We have contacts, sympathetics in the Capitol, we know they'll sponsor you, darling, we'll get you through this…"

She knew they did not believe what they were saying any more than she did. The Peacekeepers hauled them out a few minutes later, and the door slammed. She heard the electric lock whirr shut.


	9. District Four Reapings and Goodbyes

**[Author's note: Ladies and gentlemen who are still with me, thank you for your continued readership. For any new readers, welcome!**

 **Just a brief announcement before the beginning of the chapter—I am now on Wattpad! My username is ninedaysqueen, and the first few chapters of my original story,** _ **Iron and Wood**_ **, have recently been posted there. Feel free to check it out!**

 **Now, on to the story at hand.]**

 **VALERIA LEXINGTON**

Valeria's head broke the saltwater, blonde hair sticking to her skin. She wiped her eyes, treading water, and turned back towards the wharf, where her boyfriend, Lance, was sitting with his legs in the water.

"Come in!" She called out, laughing.

Lance hesitated, lowering himself more slowly into the blue ripples. His left foot sank below the surface, then the stump of his right leg, just below the knee.

It did not hinder him much. He swam up beside her, goosebumps raising on his bare skin. Their clothes were in a heap on the empty beach, next to Lance's prosthetic leg, black and shiny.

Valeria twisted around in the water, diving below the waves again and swimming with all her might. As soon as her head was beneath the surface, the world was quiet and pleasantly cool, the only feelings being water rushing past her skin and Lance warm just beside her, and the only sights were sun filtering through the blue and the occasional flash of silvery fish.

They swam for a full ten minutes, their heads only breaking the surface to take in a gulp of air, before diving down again, so that their naked bodies would be indistinguishable from some graceful sea creatures from above.

Their paradise was not quite an island, but a peninsula sticking off quite a way from the shore, with a very thin strip of land holding it on that was only visible during low tide. The path was full of rocks, and they preferred to swim rather than walk. They ended up half on shore, just in the shade of the palm trees, the water lapping on their legs.

She sighed, lying on Lance's chest on top of the warm sand, resting the top of her head under his chin.

"Could this get any better?"

Lance was silent for a moment. He was nowhere near as optimistic as her, but Valeria could not tell what was stopping him from agreeing this time.

"Lance?"

"No." He said finally, but his heart was not in it.

Valeria sat up slightly, looking at his face.

"What's wrong?"

He shook his head, putting on a smile.

"Nothing, I said no."

Valeria wrinkled her forehead, lying back down again.

"For a second, I was afraid you were about to convince me not to go."

"Oh, absolutely not." Lance sounded more sure this time. "It's just…"

Valeria nodded. She understood. Lance had lost his leg in a training accident—with her on the other end. They were meant to go into the Games together, as a team, in the hopes that they would not have to decide for themselves who would be the one to leave. Obviously, Lance could not go now.

"It's this Quell anyway." She told him. "I'm the only one who _could_ go."

Lance sighed.

"I guess you would miss your window if not."

"Hey. Lighten up." She poked him. "This way we don't have to make that awful decision."

"Well, they never meant for us to end up like this."

"I feel like that would put a damper on the whole plan."

"You think so?"

Valeria shook her head at his sarcasm.

"What time is it?"

Lance looked at his waterproof watch.

"9:30."

She grinned at him.

"We'd better get moving, if we're going to get back in time."

"Wait." He caught both her hands in his. "When you come back…"

"What?"

"Marry me."

Valeria's eyes widened. Lance stared at her entreatingly.

"I—yes!" Valeria suddenly laughed. She hugged him there on the ground. "Damn it, Lance, couldn't you have said this a bit earlier?"

He laughed as well, and their lips met in unison.

He tasted like saltwater and sun.

 **CHARLOTTE-JULIA MAYWEATHER**

Sweat was running down Charlie's chin as she gripped the pull-up bar as tight as she could, completing her tenth rep before lowering herself back down.

"You don't have to go doing this this morning." Her mother, Hanna, was leaning in the doorway. "It's your big day."

"I just want to make sure I'm totally ready." She let go of the bar and dropped back to the ground. Her family's small gym on the second floor was light and cool, a turquoise sky visible from the full-wall windows.

Hanna shook her head.

"I think you should wear my dress today."

Charlie widened her eyes slightly.

"That you wore to meet President Shorn?"

Her family was, of course, in the _very_ good graces of the Capitol. Both of her parents had attended the inauguration of President Snow's successor, and had even been greeted by her afterwards. Indeed, the president knew their faces, and had even corresponded with her parents _personally_ on other occasions. They owned the company that fished for the finest delicacies in the Capitol, and were together some the wealthiest business people in the Career Districts.

And did Charlie ever love being a future Career.

"Don't you think it's a bit dressy?" Charlie followed Hanna across the hall and up the wide, spiraling stairs, to the luxurious master bedroom.

"The only times you'll need something dressier than this is when you're in the Capitol itself."

Her mother went into the massive closet, and Charlie followed her, looking at all the silk glittering on the hangers.

"Ah, here it is." Hanna gently took the dress down. It was a waterfall of gently flowing turquoise, with a soft white belt around the middle. "Let's bring it to your room, so you can try it on."

But on the way out, her mother's elbow knocked a leather photo album that was sitting on the dresser, and it fell to the floor, falling open to a random page.

"I'll get it." Charlie knelt down, and then stopped, her face falling completely. "…Mother?"

Hanna stopped.

"What is it?"

"There's still a picture of Grandpa in here."

She could practically see the other's heart stop.

"When is it dated?"

"It doesn't have one. It's him holding me when I was a baby."

Hanna grabbed the photo album, ripping the picture out and tearing it into as many pieces as her fingers could manage.

"I'll destroy the pieces when we get home." She laid them carefully in a jewelry box on the dresser, closing and locking it.

Charlie nodded. No one could possibly know the truth about her grandfather.

The family story went that he had died before Charlie was born, and while he was a noble man, he was always traveling, and had become practically estranged. But this was only the story they had been telling since Charlie was ten.

She had had to research her genealogy for a school project. And in looking through her Grandpa's documents, her family had found something horrifying. The failed rebellion of the 74th Games—he was a courier for the conspirators. He knew everything and had failed to report it- he was a rebel himself.

He had died the year previously, and the family had flown into an uproar trying to simply erase him from their history. They had to make it seem that he had been distant, that he meant little to them, just in case the truth escaped. They pushed his death ahead to the year before Charlotte was even born, to stop questions about him. Fake divorce documents were made that would make it seem that he and her grandmother never spoke, and changed his name to hers on business documents. And they destroyed every single document that would contradict any of this.

All the confidential publicists that were required for this cost her family a fortune. Charlie knew never to even speak of him, as the risk of undoing their work was too much.

"Come on." Her mother repeated. "Forget all about him. We are the best family in the District, and you are the best tribute in these Games."

Charlie nodded, following her mother out into her room, where she put on her dress.

"You look like a lady." Hanna said softly. She motioned for her daughter to sit down in front of her vanity, which had lights around it like a movie star's, and began braiding her dark hair.

Charlie looked at herself in the mirror. Her body was lean and muscular, but still feminine with an hourglass shape, exactly as a victor's should be.

 **ALFREDA ANARA**

She felt the back of her head hit the backstage wall as the man pushed her up against it. She did not know his name, they had met a few hours before: he was the security guard in the room where her hair and makeup had been done.

Alfreda twisted her hands in his longish hair. God, she loved District Four. The men were simply divine.

"Alfreda?"

"Fuck." She raised her voice towards the door. "Do you want to join in, or is something on fire?"

She heard the voice of Perri, that year's mentor, outside the door. Perri had been mentor for the past few years now, so she knew the drill when she saw Alfreda shut a door behind her.

"Put your underwear back on, you're live in three minutes."

"You said it was fifteen minutes!"

"We're ahead of schedule. Or should I explain to the lot in the Capitol why we couldn't keep up?"

Alfreda sadly looked at the slightly bewildered man.

"Sorry, babe." She pushed him away slightly. "Wait here, we'll finish before the train leaves, yeah?"

She left without waiting for an answer.

"This is an illness, you know. What is this, the third one since the train stopped this morning?"

Hair and makeup people surrounded Alfreda as she made her way to the entrance of the stage.

"You could get diagnosed." Perri kept talking, following her. "Like, this is a thing."

"If this is an illness, why does it feel amazing?" Alfreda puckered up to let one artist fix her lipstick. "Okay, I'm live. Say hello to District Four!"

And the roar of the crowd enveloped her like a wave as she strutted onstage.

She kept her opening remarks short and sweet. The choosing of the tributes was the fun part.

Alfreda paused with her hand over the bowl. As if on cue, someone called out:

"I volunteer!"

The crowd cheered again, parting to show quite a lovely girl moving through, with hair slightly damp and a white dress fluttering about her legs. She climbed up to the stage.

"Valeria Lexington." She smiled into the microphone.

The name was known, it was clear from the crowd's reaction. Alfreda made a mental note to ask the girl about it eventually.

She had barely turned back to the bowl when there was another cry.

"I volunteer!"

This time there was quite a commotion in the crowd. Six boys had surrounded a dark-haired girl, and hoisted her onto the shoulders of two of them, carrying her up to the stage. As they approached, Alfreda could see them fist-pumping and laughing, and hear them shouting:

"Make way for the next victor!"

"Real winner coming through!"

"Charlie! Charlie! Charlie!"

Now Alfreda laughed.

"Now that's how I feel." She said to the girl. "Are they all yours?"

"Charlotte-Julia Mayweather." She replied into the microphone, before lowering her voice away from it. "And they're just friends."

"I don't believe a word of it. Shake hands, before they accuse me of favoritism." Alfreda smiled back at the crowd, re-raising the mic to her mouth. "These are your tributes, ladies and gentlemen, and may the odds be _ever_ in your favor."

 **VALERIA LEXINGTON**

Her parents came to wish her well first, and stayed for a very long time. Valeria hugged them, and told them she loved them, and she was truly sincere.

But they stayed for so long, and there was someone else she loved just as much, and in a very different way.

There was thankfully still time when Lance arrived.

Valeria jumped up from the couch when he came in, crossing over into his arms. They stayed there like that for a long time.

"Where did you go?"

Lance had disappeared just before the Reaping. He said he had left something back at his house, and she could not imagine what he would need so badly he would let go of her hand and take off.

"Do you have a token?"

Valeria stared at him.

"What?"

"Do you have a token?" Lance repeated.

Valeria shook her head.

Lance made his way over to the couch, his prosthetic leg causing him to limp in a way she had grown to love. He sat down hard, looking up at her expectantly.

Valeria slowly sat down beside him.

He reached into the pocket of his dress pants. She suddenly knew what it was the moment before he pulled it out.

"Oh, my god, _Lance_!"

In the small red box was a ring, nothing big and shiny; just a thin gold band with a few glittering turquoise gems on it.

"I thought I would make it official." He took her hand and slid the ring on it, looking up with a grin. "Don't lose it, now."

"I won't." Valeria breathed. She looked up at him, her face suddenly truly distressed for the first time that day. "Lance… I could die."

He looked at her.

"From you, that's a first."

"I know." She looked down, and then smiled again. "Come here."

He held her until a Peacekeeper threatened to take him away physically. And until the train shot off over the coastline towards the Capitol, Valeria never once took her eyes off the ring.

 **CHARLOTTE-JULIA MAYWEATHER**

She sat there alone in the visiting room for a very long time.

And it was a long time before her parents arrived. They came in, without bravado, quietly. Her mother's face was tearstreaked, her father quite pale.

Charlie stood up slowly. She had expected them to run to her and hug her, she expected congratulations.

"What—what's the matter?"

"Charlie, they know."

"Know what?" Her mind was drawing a blank.

"About your grandfather, and the rebellion—"

Charlie's hands flew to her mouth.

"Mom, this place is bugged." She mouthed.

" _Charlie, they already know._ " Hanna continued, before breaking down in tears.

Her father stepped forwards, lowering his voice to explain.

"We no longer have the Capitol's great favor. It seems they were running background checks on some of the main candidates for volunteering, and… well."

He shook his head. Charlie could only stare at him.

"I expect to find my stocks plummeting when we go home."

"So… my chances?"

Charlie looked from one to the other.

"Please tell me something-"

"The potential sponsors probably know. They will by the time you get to the Capitol." He turned back to her mother. "We'll have to sell the ships and hire more publicists. Have them broadcast our love for the Capitol…"

They left still discussing their own prospects. Charlie tugged and her hair in despair, pacing back and forth across the room.

Victory was to her like a candy dangled over her head her whole life. And someone had just snatched it away.


	10. District Five Reapings and Goodbyes

**ROSALINDA FRATTER**

The night was getting old by the time Rose slid out of the motel room bed. Her bare feet made no sound on the musty carpet as she made her way over to where her clothes were strewn about—the cropped halter top and mini skirt, garter belts and stockings.

They were uncomfortable enough that she could not wait to get home and change, but at this point, sore and sweaty, with thick makeup weighing heavy on her face, the walk home seemed to be a million miles long.

She glanced back at the man in the bed. He was sitting up, the light of his cell phone reflecting off his face and bare chest. The phone was a strange artifact, one she saw very rarely in Five's red-light district. He had pulled up to her on the street corner in a car with a driver, with a suit jacket slung over the seat beside him.

Her eyes slowly traveled to the fat wallet on the nightstand.

She made her way over to the door, where her purse and shoes were waiting. She reluctantly stuffed her feet into the crimson heels, hearing them clack on the floor as she turned to face him.

The man did not react. Rose cleared her throat. He looked up, raising one eyebrow.

"I'm leaving now." Rose told him. "I want my money."

The man exhaled slightly, putting the phone aside. He reached for his wallet, and Rose watched him slowly unfold it, and then pause.

"How much did we agree on?"

"Two hundred dollars."

He pulled a few bills out of the wallet. Rose reached out her hand, and he reluctantly handed the money over. She counted them twice, and then put them in her purse, leaving immediately.

There were more scantily clad girls loitering in the hallway, one of who acknowledged her with a nod as she trudged by. The lobby was empty except for a few men laughing in a cloud of cigar smoke. The clerk was asleep behind the front desk, spaghetti sauce down the front of his shirt.

"Hey Frenchie," one of the men called out suddenly. "You taking any more dates tonight?"

"Meet me here tomorrow." Rose said tiredly. The man shouted something in response, but she was already out the door.

The walk home caused her already blistered feet to cry out with every step. She finally climbed the steps to the small apartment on the top floor of the building on the corner a few streets away, taking off her heels as soon as she was through the door.

The shadowy figure of a young girl was sitting at the table in the darkened kitchen. Rose sighed.

"I told you to stop waiting up for me. You'll mess up your sleep cycle and be too tired for school."

"There's no school today." Adela replied quietly. She got up, moving for the light switch.

"Don't turn it on; you'll wake up Feyn and Adriana." Rose sat down at the table, rubbing her feet.

Adela paused, pulling a half-melted candle out of the cupboard and lighting it on the table.

"Were your clients mean tonight?" She looked her sister over with concern.

"Oh, they're all perfect gentlemen, Adela." Rose replied.

The younger girl looked confused for a moment, only laughing briefly when Rose smiled at her. Adela opened the small fridge, pulling out a pack of frozen peas. She passed it to Rose, who pressed it to the place where dark hickeys blotched up the side of her neck.

"I don't want you doing this." She glanced at her sister again.

"Waiting up?"

" _This_." Rose gestured to her neck.

"Oh." Adela hesitated. "You—you could help me out if I started, though. It wouldn't be as bad as when you did."

Rose laughed humorlessly.

"I'll talk to the girls about starting a "bring your baby sister to work" day."

Adela was quiet. Rose sat up straighter.

"Okay, I'm serious now." She slowly put the peas down. "You're going to go back to school tomorrow. That's the reason I do this."

She reached into her purse and pulled out the bills she had accumulated throughout the night.

"I'm going to take a shower and get ready." She stood up, limping from the blisters on her feet. "I'll try to look like a normal teenager for once. Promise."

 **DELILAH HALO**

 _Tick-tock._

Delilah lay flat on her bed and stared at the clock on the wall.

It was 8:30 in the morning, and she could hear her mother and brother talking downstairs.

She hadn't had breakfast, and had absolutely no desire to go downstairs. She spoke to her family as little as possible, and they did the same to her. The coldness between them was impossible to penetrate, and none of them would want to.

The insane asylum in Five had closed down years ago from lack of funding. So when Delilah broke her brother's arm in a dispute over breakfast a few years ago, the Peacekeepers simply sent her home.

Her brother Arou was her mother's pride and joy. With nowhere else to put her, she begrudgingly allowed Delilah back home, always keeping her at arm's length.

So Delilah turned her rage somewhere else.

A Peacekeeper saw her attempting to murder a woman in an alley down on the narrow streets where drugs and money changed hands openly and men rolled down their windows to invite scantily-clad women into their cars from the street corner.

It got bad after, but at least he didn't report it. Her mother opened the door when she staggered home, wrapped only in her sweater.

"You're a mess." She shook her head, letting Delilah inside, and said nothing else of the incident.

Her mother didn't care what she did. So Delilah returned to the same street that night, pricking him with a needle she'd bought minutes ago as he passed.

He was so drunk he noticed nothing. She found his obituary in the paper three days later.

She didn't know why she felt the need to commit such crimes. Maybe it was the only way she could keep from attacking everyone she met. Her rage was always boiling in the bottom of her stomach. If it wasn't vented, it would explode at the slightest provocation, like a balloon blow up so full that the slightest pressure would pop it.

 _Tick, tock_.

The pressure was starting to build again. Delilah rolled off her bed, plopping onto the floor.

 _The Reaping is today,_ she thought, staring at the unwashed pile of clothes near her face.

She stood up, wondering whether she had anything clean left to wear. After picking unenthusiastically through her closet for a few minutes, she sighed, gritting her teeth, and turned to the pile.

The blue sweater and black skirt on the top didn't noticeably smell bad. She pulled them on, putting her ear to the door.

The others were still at breakfast. Delilah opened the window, sliding out onto the roof underneath. Gripping the edge with both hands, she hung with her feet four feet off the ground, and then dropped, hitting the sparse grass and rolling.

Power plants dominated the horizon, and wires crisscrossed overhead like a net under the overcast sky. Delilah got up and walked, heading vaguely for the downtown area.

Most people were starting to move towards the square for the Reaping. Through open windows Delilah saw parents holding their daughters, and felt jealousy twisting at her stomach, though it dissipated quickly.

Someone knocked into her from the back. Delilah felt her proverbial balloon pop, whirling around to face them.

The man paused, looking at her questioningly. He was wearing a very expensive suit, though non-descript, leaving a motel that looked much too cheap for someone of his status. Her eyes passed briefly over the silvery makeup that defined his eyes and cheeks.

 _Capitolite._

That was the last nail in his coffin.

"Excuse me." The Capitolite man moved around her towards where a driver was holding open the door to a black car.

He hit the ground like a ton of bricks as Delilah tackled him, his head making a lovely smack on the pavement. His briefcase fell from his hand and skidded away.

He was yelling in anger and confusion as she punched and clawed at his face and neck, his makeup smearing in a very unflattering way, showing his face wasn't actually quite as dashing as it would seem a minute ago. The driver was yelling also, trying to pull her off of his employer, though Delilah was drowning both out with her shrieks of rage.

Boots thudded on the pavement as hungover-looking Peacekeepers ran up to the fray, hauling her off. Delilah fought them just as viciously, and finally, finally laughed.

 **FYODOR RASKO**

"Are the scratches all covered?"

Fyodor sat behind the curtain leading to the stage with an icepack on his head. A woman with power-line tattoos encircling her arms was carefully reapplying his makeup, this time with extra concealer.

"It will be fine on camera." She finally snapped her case shut, straightening up.

He stood up, reluctantly handing her the icepack and feeling for the lump on his head. Within seconds it began throbbing again.

"Crazy bitch," he muttered, a second after they turned on the microphone clipped to his collar.

The word "bitch" reverberated throughout the square. Fyodor closed his eyes for a long minute.

" _Tell_ me when you're going to do that!" He covered it and shouted at the technical people across the room. Stifled giggling was the only reply he got.

He supposed it was to be expected from District Five.

"Mr Rasko, you're live in five… four… three… two…"

He entered the stage to a lukewarm, obligatory applause. Fyodor reacted as if he'd just had the warmest welcome of his life, smiling and waving.

This District was his playground, and they despised him for it. The Peacekeepers knew his face, and no longer dared order him out of the car when they shined their light in to find him surrounded by hookers and drugs, no matter what part of the city he was in. Hell, they even provided his car and driver, if only to keep track of his whereabouts.

You just couldn't have that sort of fun in the stuffy high-class parties of the Capitol. Oh, sure, you could find a high and cheap sex if you knew where to look, but they never quite captured the debauchery of District Five at night.

But sadly, soon it was time to choose the tributes.

Fyodor hovered his hand over the bowl for a long while before he finally pulled a slip out.

"Rosalinda Fratter."

A girl quietly emerged from the 17 year old's section, coming up towards the stage. The cameras found her face, and a sudden laugh burst from Fyodor. He covered his mouth with one hand, watching her mount the stairs.

It was the whore he'd hired the night before, standing ten feet away from him like she was getting a school award or something.

" _So you aren't twenty one?"_ He mouthed at her, smirking, and turned back to the bowl. He saw the girl's face flush dark red out of the corner of his eye.

"Delilah Halo," read the second slip.

There was a brief silence.

"No!" A girl screamed. "No, NO, NO, _NO!"_

She was fighting viciously as the crowd parted to let the Peacekeeper drag her up to the stage, and he could barely keep a hold on her.

The familiar shrieking turned to panting as they reached the stage, and Fyodor was quickly distracted from the first girl as his lip curled at the one who'd just been brought up.

It was the one who'd attacked him outside the motel.

"Can we throw this one back?" Fyodor muttered, as her fighting came to a stop, and she stood still in the Peacekeeper's iron grip, chest heaving, wild eyes focused on him.

He turned to the microphone and smiled.

"And these are the upstanding young ladies who will represent District Five in this year's Quarter Quell." He said pleasantly, turning back to the girls. "Shake hands, dears."

The Peacekeeper reluctantly let go of Delilah Halo. With a growl that would not be out of place coming from a housecat, she lunged at him again.

The microphone squealed with feedback as it was knocked over. Fyodor staggered backwards and fell for a second time in two hours, the girl on top of him, screaming unintelligibly, her hands around his neck.

The Peacekeepers were on them in a second, lifting her in the air and carrying her backstage.

As Fyodor sat up, a strange sound was taking hold of the square. The people were laughing.

It was as bad as the salute in District Twelve in—what Games, was it? He couldn't remember as he stumbled to his feet, spitting. Even Rosalinda seemed to dare to laugh at him, her arms folded over her stomach and eyes sparkling.

She turned and followed the Peacekeepers backstage, wiping her eyes. The laughter did not dissipate from the crowd until five minutes after he was gone.

 **ROSALINDA FRATTER**

She had stopped laughing as soon as she was offstage. Now, a growing pit was forming in her stomach, for more reason than one.

Rose sat on the couch in the visiting room, and then paced, and then sat down again. She ran her fingers through her hair, taking in a breath, and finding herself unable to let it out.

The door opened, and her sisters burst in. The little ones, Ariana and Feyn, ran over to hug her on both sides. All Rose could see was the pleated skirt and blouse Ariana was wearing. It was her school uniform, just without the cardigan that bore the school crest. The plain navy and white outfit seemed to mock her.

Was her sacrifice for the three of them to be for nothing? She looked up at Adela, opening her mouth to speak, and feeling a lump in her throat, could not.

A single tear ran down Rose's cheek, and then another, and then another. The little sisters stared, but Rose could only look at Adela, knowing the meaning of the grim look on her face.

Adela sat down beside Feyn, wrapping her arms around her and Rose both, and they fell into a four-way hug. Rose could feel the little ones quivering with tears on either side of her, but Adela was silent.

Rose kissed Adriana and Feyn both, and they left slightly early, holding each other still to wait outside the door. They could not hear what she was going to talk about with Adela.

She looked at her sister. Adela was fourteen, the same age Rose was when she'd started in at the world's oldest profession. And she'd grown up almost as fast- tucking the little ones into bed, getting them up in the morning, tending to Rose when she came home late.

"You can't go out, Adela." Rose whispered.

Adela said nothing, looking at her feet.

"You can't." Rose repeated a little louder. "You _can't_."

"Why not?" Adela asked.

Rose stopped.

"Because I do so you won't have to."

It was another minute before Adela answered.

"But you won't be here anymore."

"I might come back." Rose sat up straighter on the couch, holding out one hand in desperation. "There's enough money under the mattress for a few more weeks. Don't go out yet. Just wait until—"

"Until you die." Adela said quietly.

Rose stared at her, feeling her eyes blur up again, and then nodded.

"And then- and then go down to the factory—"

"Rose, it was hell when you did that, we were starving."

"But there'd only be three of you now—"

"I know your friends; they'd help me, wouldn't they?" Adela cut in. "I could go to Ektra's house, she'd tell me where to go, how to tell when it's not safe—"

"It's never safe!"

Rose held out her arm, pointing to a thin pink scar that traced it from elbow to wrist, and then to the one on her face.

"You can never tell for sure."

Adela was silent again. The Peacekeeper knocked on the door.

"Time's up." He said, opening it. Rose's heart shot up to her mouth.

"Adela, please." She grabbed her sister's hand. "Promise me you won't go out. For two weeks at least."

"I—"

The Peacekeeper was pulling her away. Rose held on even tighter.

"Adela!"

"I— I promise! I'll try! But you have to try too!"

The younger girl was finally crying properly. Rose's hand faltered and she was gone in a second, the door slamming behind her.

 **DELILAH HALO**

No one came to visit, so she knocked on the door and asked if she could go to the train early. Fyodor looked up as she came into the dining room.

"Why are you not in a straightjacket?" He asked over a plate of some kind of unfamiliar cake.

Delilah shrugged. He shook his head, looking back at the food.

"Should I be worried?" He cut off another piece, chewing it slowly as he watched her with dark eyes. Delilah considered.

"Nah, I'm happy now."

She sat down a few chairs away from him, pulling a plate of pastries towards herself. He shook his head, going back to his cake, and out of the corner of her eye, Delilah thought she saw him smile.


	11. District Six Reapings and Train

**KYVA SAVERA**

One hundred and twenty five years ago, the Capitol fought a war against rebels, a war that left District Six devastated.

Two years ago, District Six fought a very different sort of war, but one that left the same piles of rubble, lives cut short and long lists of missing people at the Peacekeepers' stations.

There had been some cleaning up since then, but whole streets were still in ruins. One small, ramshackle house was tagged with a simple symbol, a scorpion's claws and tail.

Kyva's boots crunched over the gravel on the road. The Peacekeepers, mostly sent from Two, had put barriers around blocks that had been completely condemned. She ducked underneath it and continued, the only sound besides her footsteps being the buzz of trains, cars and hovercraft in the background.

She reached the house, mounting the steps with the black briefcase she held firmly in her grip. She knocked twice on the door.

"What is the scorpion's stinger?" asked a voice from inside.

"A needle." Kyva replied.

The door opened. Sony Savera's face was pale like hers, her eyes were incredibly pale blue, almost white, and her hair was long and black. The only difference between the two were their scars: Kyva's were from a burn, circling her right eye like a flower, while Sony's, thin and pink, made several lines on her cheek.

Sony stepped back to let her inside.

Despite outward appearances, the house was rather clean on the inside. The twins walked down a long hallway, but before opening the door at the end, Kyva paused, laying the case on the ground and kneeling in front of it. She unlocked the case and pulled out a small envelope, sticking it down the front of her shirt. Then she locked the case, stood up, and looked at Sony like nothing had happened.

The older twin tilted her head slightly.

"Is that for Bruno?" she asked quietly, but unemotionally.

"Maybe." Kyva replied.

There was a moment before a small half-smile appeared on her mouth. Sony returned it, but when she opened the door, both faces were once again cold and distant.

Bruno was sitting at the table, acknowledging both of them with a nod as they entered. He was the leader of their gang, while Kyva was second, and Sony third.

"What happened to the courier?"

"A double agent. I shot her." Kyva put the case on the table. "This is what she was carrying."

She opened the case again.

"She must have been dealing with the Capricorn gang." Bruno pulled out a few of the rolls of large bills inside, laying them on the table. "How did you find out?"

"When I saw her, I remembered, from back in the war. She was a courier for them back then." Kyva said simply.

"And you don't forget faces." Bruno sighed. "At least she did not know much."

"It would have been better to interrogate her." Sony put in.

Two years ago, a war had erupted between the two major drug gangs of Six: Scorpio and Capricorn. Scorpio did win, but Capricorn remained like weeds, continuously cropping up.

"Well, if you're looking for blood…"

Bruno jerked his head at the closet in the other side of the room. Sony went over curiously, opening the door and peeking in.

A middle aged man was huddled against the back wall of the closet, bound and gagged. He was unconscious, a trickle of blood running down from his head.

"Isn't that Lawrence Mende?" Kyva came up behind her sister, standing on her tiptoes to see in.

"Indeed." Bruno said from the table, not turning around from where he was counting the money. "We found him today in District Two."

"How?"

"His daughter Jewel volunteered."

Both twins laughed briefly.

"You got him here fast." Sony closed the closet door. "Wouldn't it have been easier just to have someone interrogate him up there?"

"Yes, but I wanted your special touch, Sony." Bruno put the money back in the case. "He won't get away with defecting on us back then."

"I don't remember him." Sony remarked.

"He had a share in shipping our morphling outside of Six." Kyva reminded her. "We made him rich, but when the war began, he got cold feet."

"I see."

"Will the two of you be going to the Reaping?" Bruno asked.

The twins looked at each other.

"I guess we'd better." Kyva said reluctantly. "It's in two hours, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Sony agreed. She looked back at the closet.

"Go on." Bruno said, and then laughed. "He'll still be down there when you get back."

With a rare smile, Sony went over to the closet, opening it again. Grabbing Mende under the armpits, she dragged him across the tile floor and out of the kitchen. Kyva could hear his legs bumping on each stair, on the way down to the soundproofed basement.

 **SONY SAVERA**

She found Kyva outside, with half an hour left before they would have to leave for the Reaping. She was on top of a ruined apartment building, standing on the edge, looking out over the ruined portion of Six.

"So what was that envelope?" Sony asked. Alone her sister, she was much less reserved.

Kyva looked back, pulling it out of her shirt.

It was small and orange, about the length of her hand. She wiggled her finger under the flap and opened it, shaking it out into her hand.

It was a small clear tube, filled with some sort of white powder. She held it out so her sister could look at it.

"Super-concentrated morphling." She said. "One milligram of this is an overdose, especially if it's injected."

"Was the courier supposed to have this?"

"I asked her to get it. I suppose even traitors can be useful sometimes."

Sony passed it back to her sister.

"So what's it for?"

"I was going to mix it in with Bruno's next high. I think it would be ironic."

"It would." Sony agreed.

The cool wind lifted her hair off her face. She turned to look at Kyva straight on.

"You really think we could rule this thing?"

"Why not?" Kyva shrugged at her.

Sony looked back at the skyline.

"What is it?" Kyva pressed.

Sony was silent for a moment. A strange feeling was forming in the pit of her stomach.

"Nothing. Something just feels off today." She reached over and took her sister's hand, lightly. Kyva looked up, surprised. For them, this was very much affection. "It's probably nothing."

They stayed like that for quite a while, only letting go when they turned to leave.

 **GLAMOHR RICE**

"Can you smell the oil?" Glamohr wrinkled her nose as she made her way up to the entrance to the stage

Her high, spiky heels caused her to totter as she walked. Her face was cake with enough makeup to qualify as a mask.

"This _is_ the transportation district." A voice said from a dressing room, with the door left ajar.

Glamohr paused.

"How long until it starts?"

"Ten minutes, Ms Rice."

She nodded, nudging open the door to the dressing room.

"Oh, Grate."

"Look, don't judge me." The mentor was sitting at the vanity in his dressing room, a band around his upper arm, a needle in the vein of his inner elbow. "A regular year is bad enough."

Glamour looked around, shutting the door behind her.

"What do you mean, bad enough?" She went and sat behind him.

"You know, the two kids go and they always die. Well, usually, or else I wouldn't be here." Grate looked at her with sunken cheeks and yellowed skin. She shuddered. "And this year it'll be worse. They're going to torture those kids, I know it."

"…And?"

Grate noticed that his morphling vial had run out. He detached it from the needle, taking a new one from the drawer.

"See, I thought I was almost done, but now I need more to deal with you. How would you like it if your kids were in this kind of danger, Glamohr?"

Glamohr struggled to understand for a minute.

"You know, I think what District Six needs is a morale booster." She said a little more brightly. "After the war between Scorpion and—"

"It's Scorpio."

"Anyway, I have a good feeling about this year. I think we're getting some strong tributes."

She squeezed his shoulder as she got up and left.

And soon she was standing on the stage, looking out over the hastily repaired square, about to choose that year's tribute.

Her long nails unfolded the first sheet of paper, reading out the name written therein.

"Sony Savera."

A hush ran through the square. Glamohr looked around until her eyes found the girl leaving the seventeen-year-old's section, a dark hood concealing most of her face. She lowered it as she reached the stage.

It was a pity, Glamohr thought, that her face was so scarred, since it might have been beautiful once before. It was set in cold indifference, and the crowd parted to let her pass, almost as if they thought she was radioactive.

"Scorpio scum!" Someone shouted.

A fight broke out in that area, and Peacekeepers rushed over to break it up.

"It seems we have a celebrity!" Glamohr exclaimed.

Now that she was almost to the stage, she could see that Sony's eyes were pale enough that she thought she might be blind, but she navigated the stairs much too smoothly for this to be so. Sony came up on the stage, and Glamohr's smile faded at the expression on her face, or lack thereof, and the ice behind those ice-colored eyes.

She gave her head a little shake, reminding herself that this was a teenage girl, not a monster, and turned back to the microphone, putting her smile back on.

"And now for the other."

"No need. I volunteer as tribute."

Another gasp ran through the crowd, and now there was a hum throughout the square. Glamohr watched as another girl, hooded like the first, left the same section and came up towards the stage. She lowered her hood.

Now there was uproar in the crowd, but Glamohr only had eyes for the sisters standing side by side. Their faces were both marred in different ways, but besides that they were identical, and their expressions were like marble.

"That- that is all." She said into the microphone, permanently unsettled now. "And may the odds be ever in your favor, District Six."

 **SONY SAVERA**

The train rushed over the factories of the District, the hovercrafts, cars, trucks and trains coming into being below the bridge. Both twins sat facing one another at a table by the window, drinks in front of them, watching their District being left behind.

"Why did you do it?" Sony asked finally.

Kyva nibbled at the expensive cheese on the plate in front of her.

"I knew you would be strong. But I thought we would be stronger together, as a pair."

Sony tilted her head.

"Really?"

"Don't we already know how to fight? Use knives?" Kyva asked. "Together, we are stronger than a Career. And smarter than the whole pack."

Sony considered.

"Well, I suppose the Capitol does like a good torture. I can please them that way."

"There you go." Her sister said encouragingly.

Their escort was on the other side of the room, as far away from them as possible. At this point, she stood up at left as fast as she could.

"Have you been talking to Grate?" Sony asked.

"Not since his last purchase." Kyva told her.

"He came by while you were in the bathroom. He was high as a kite, but I got a few words out of him." Sony reached over and took a piece of the cheese. "He says she loves the Games, and can't imagine why someone wouldn't. But I guess she's used to scared kids coming out of Six."

"Are you scared?"

"No. What about you?"

"No."

Both sisters nodded.

"So what are we going to do about Mende?" Sony asked.

"I suppose Bruno will finish him off for you. It would be a bit of a pain to keep him down there too long."

"I know, but that's not what I meant." Sony leaned in. "His daughter's in this Games."

"A Career?"

"Sort of. She was from Two, so I guess she must be trained, but I think she's young." Sony popped another piece of the expensive cheese into her mouth. "She shouldn't be a problem to take out."

"Bloodbath, or should we leave it till later?" Kyva inquired.

They thought about it.

"Later." Sony said.

Kyva looked at her questioningly, and she continued.

"I think it's important that we get the spotlight when it happens. Besides, I want to take my time."

"I see," Kyva nodded. "But how can you be sure no one else will take her out first?"

"I can't, really. But I think she'll at least survive the bloodbath."

"Fair enough."

"So what about Bruno?" Sony asked.

Kyva pulled the tube out of her pocket, and sighed. She opened the window and flicked it out.

"They would only have taken it from me at the Capitol." She said dejectedly.

"Well, maybe if you're the one to go back, you'll be able to finish him off." Sony told her.

Kyva looked at her for a long time.

"You know, Sony, I don't think there can just be one of us. Can there?"

"There's only one victor."

"I know."

Sony looked at her sister for a long time, attempting to imagine the world without her.

"We both have to die?"

"I think that's how it must be." Kyva shrugged.

Sony imagined her knife piercing her sister's jugular. The other would fall in a fountain of blood and be gone in a minute. And surely, as the strongest, smartest tribute, Sony would return home victorious.

"We'll make it to the top few. I know it. Let's see what happens then."

"I know, I'm so curious."

They went back to their snack. Sony imagined sacrificing her sister's life for her own. Little did she know, Kyva was imagining the same.


	12. District Seven Reapings and Suprise

**YIANGLIU LAOYING**

The labour camps of District Seven were speckled among the hills like pepper, and the clearcut areas, brown against the green of the trees in perfect squares, were sharply visible through the mist that covered the rolling terrain.

It was about seven o'clock in the evening, and in Camp 213, the residents were finishing their meal in the cafeteria. Men and women, all plainly dressed, noticeably muscled and weary-looking, had started to drift out of the log building towards the cabins, where several families stayed to each. The sky was darkening blue and misty, while orange lamps were beginning to give a glow over the gravel and neatly arranged buildings. Cigarette smoke from a few of the cabins floated up towards the sky, forming a haze in the windless air.

Yiangliu slipped back into the cafeteria, weaving through the people leaving as if looking for someone. Her eyes focused on a table near the corner, and she wriggled in between two burly men to reach it faster.

Willow Clark picked at the last of her potatoes, looking up as Yiangliu slid into the seat beside her.

"You missed dinner?"

"I was out in the woods." Yiangliu leaned in to whisper. "There's something you should see."

Willow blinked.

"The curfew—"

"I know. But we don't have to be inside the gates for another two hours."

"Exactly how far out in the woods are we talking?" Willow asked.

"Half an hour, maybe. We don't need to go far, just to the top of that hill to the west." Yiangliu sighed at Willow's skeptical expression. "Come on, you should see this!"

Willow looked at the Peacekeeper guarding the door, as if he might stop them.

"Alright." She said. "But we _have_ to be in on time."

"We'll be in on time-"

"That's what you said last time, and they left us out in the woods all night. Tomorrow we have to get dressed and get the bus at eight, to go back to the city for the Reaping—"

Yiangliu's stomach dropped.

Until she was fourteen, she lived in an orphanage that took as many tesserae out on the children under its care as possible. After she left to live on her own wits, she needed to take just as much. This was the first year she took none, but it wouldn't change that her name would be in the bowl over thirty times.

They left the camp through the gates, which were still open, although a Peacekeeper in the guard tower called out a warning to be back on time. Yiangliu saw Willow glance back at the huge clock tower in the center of the complex and sigh.

Both girls pulled a flashlight out of their pockets and clicked it on, shining the pale blue light over the trees ahead. They stretched up high above the gate and buildings of the camp, so that their tips seemed to be lost in the clouds.

Most of the trees were coniferous, deep red-brown that looked black in the night and all their needles blending together into one great mass of shadow. They walked with their feet making little sound on the pine needles, except for the odd snapped twig. So much human activity in the area had driven bears nearby to the smell of food, no matter what precautions were taken to mask it. Every rustle in the bushes caused the girls to jump and turn their flashlights quickly on the area, only to find a rabbit, squirrel or just a gust of wind.

"This is it." Yiangliu said excitedly after they had walked for about ten minutes.

Raising one eyebrow skeptically, Willow shone her flashlight where her friend pointed.

"You brought me out here at this hour to show me a tree?"

The oak tree was so large that the dominance of its roots in the ground pushed out the small trees growing around it, causing a ten foot clearing to have formed around it. The roots were thicker than a man's arm, and the branches thicker than one's body. They hung low to the ground, stretching out to the pine trees around or to the star-speckled sky above.

"Not the tree." Yiangliu said impatiently. She put her flashlight in a pocket in her coat that allowed her to use her hands and the light at once, before grabbing the lowest branch and hauling herself up.

"Yiangliu!" Willow called from the ground, her feet remaining firmly planted. "Seriously?"

"We have to get above the treeline to see it!"

"See what?!"

"Come on!"

Willow sighed, arranging her flashlight the same way, and then climbed after her friend.

They made decently quick progress up the tree, until finally they were above the tops of most of the pine trees, and the wind ruffled their hair with a chill. The branches were thinner here, and Yiangliu could see her friend's knuckles were white on her handholds.

"Ok." Willow whispered. "We're up here. What were you going to show me?"

Yiangliu stared off over the black horizon, waiting.

"This is a waste of time." Willow said after a minute.

"Hang on! It only happens every few minutes."

Willow sighed, but stayed nonetheless. The seconds ticked by, when suddenly there was a massive _bang_ in the distance that seemed to shake the roots of the tree.

The area from which the sound emanated was flashing now, in different places red, white and orange in tune with rumblings that continued, and there were more sounds, like fireworks.

"Guns?" Willow asked.

"I think so." Yiangliu nodded.

They watched the firefight go on for ten minutes, when it disappeared just as soon as it began.

Yiangliu had settled semi-comfortably in the fork between two branches, and now looked up at Willow, who was standing on one, holding the trunk for balance.

"What do you think is going on?"

Willow bit her lip.

"Maybe a bear got into a camp."

Yiangliu stared at her.

"All that over a bear? Come on, there'd be one shot, maybe two."

"I know." Willow said after a pause.

She carefully sat down as well. The oak did not respond to her shifting of weight. She looked at Yiangliu.

"You know, they said there's been unrest out in camp 18."

"And 12." Yiangliu added.

Willow nodded.

"But what is it?" Yiangliu asked.

"I don't know. You hear all kinds of stories. The Peacekeepers just said unrest."

"Do you think it could be a rebellion?"

Willow looked at her sharply.

"Yiangliu, don't say that."

"Why not?" Her friend demanded.

"Because I don't want you to get hurt. You've gotten in trouble for me once before."

There was a long silence between them.

"Are you scared for tomorrow?" Willow asked.

Yiangliu considered.

"Not really." She said finally.

Willow stared off over the dark forest. There was nothing more to see. The shooting had stopped.

"I sometimes wonder what would happen if we ran away."

"Didn't you just tell me not to talk about rebellions?"

Willow sighed.

"There's so much woods there. Would they be able to find us?"

Both knew the answer was _yes,_ although neither spoke for a long minute.

"We could be like cave people." Yiangliu laughed.

"You would like it enough, dragging me out here in the night."

Both laughed now, and the sound echoed off the trees around them as they fell silent.

"We should go back soon."

"Hopefully we don't fall and break an ankle getting down from here."

"Stop worrying, Willow. It's going to be ok."

 **ANDARIN SARIN**

Andarin clipped his microphone onto his ear.

He glanced at the mentor of the year, Sequoia, out of the corner of his eye.

"It'll be fine." She touched him on the back briefly.

Andarin could hear the nervous rumble of the crowd out in the square. Here in District Seven, the Reaping was held later in the day than they usually were, and the citizens were brought in by bus in the morning.

"Sequoia, look for me." He said with a deep breath. "Are they there?"

The woman peeked. Andarin watched her long red braid swing over her back as she moved. They were the same age, and he had been an assistant to her stylist on her Games. They had not been separated since the end.

"The spaces for Camps 18 and 12 are empty." She confirmed.

Andarin nodded. Sequoia came over to him.

"Are you afraid?" he asked quietly.

"I have killed people before." Sequoia told him.

"I didn't ask that—"

"Mr Sarin, you're live."

He nodded at her and went to give the opening address.

His eyes flickered over the crowd as he spoke, glancing for certain faces. When he ran out of generic yearly fillers to say, he moved over to the bowl of names, not even trying to smile.

"Yiangliu Laoying."

He watched, with a heavy heart, the crowd parting to show a small girl with almond-shaped eyes.

 _She might have a chance, if this works out…_

"I volunteer!"

There was a gasp throughout the assembly, and the cameras on the screens swiveled to show a lighter-haired girl push her way through the crowd.

Yiangliu Laoying ran up to her, and the two exchanged heated words.

It wouldn't matter in a minute anyway. Andarin pulled the next slip.

"Jenna—"

"No, I volunteer!"

It was Yiangliu again. Willow let out a scream of anger and despair, while both girls were herded up to the stage.

"Shake hands." Andarin muttered without looking at them.

He paused before looking at the microphone again, trying to take everything in—the trees, the sky, the faces- and seeing nothing.

"And may the odds be ever in your favor."

It was like a flower blooming. Axes emerged from inside coats, the backs of pants, inside backpacks, from a handful of people in every section.

With a _crack_ like a falling tree, a gun went off. The rebels in the crowd rushed the Peacekeepers, a few falling, a few colliding with the officers in riot gear. The crowd swarmed in a panic—some joining the rebels, with rocks or their bare hands, and some scattered, grabbing loved ones from the crowd and rushing towards the fence.

It was chaos. Bullets were flying now, but rubber or live Andarin didn't know. His own gun emerged from the back of his waistband, and he fired at the nearest Peacekeeper, only to find that the man had already been dropped by Sequoia, who now had his gun.

" _Get down, it's live!"_ She screamed at him, and Andarin hit the floor of the stage as she exchanged bullets with the three Peacekeepers rushing them from the other side. " _Where are the girls?!"_

There was no time to answer. Three hovercraft had appeared in the sky, one much larger than the others. The two small ones were quick fighters, and they swooped low over the crowd, spraying a pale green gas.

The rioters began to cough and stagger around, weapons hitting the ground. Andarin could only hear them, as his eyes felt like they were burning out of his head.

" _The girls, the girls!"_ Sequoia kept screaming. There was another shot, and her voice disappeared.

Andarin stumbled to his feet.

" _Sequoia!"_ He called, and his mouth filled with gas, and he felt he couldn't breathe. The blurry image he could see as he opened his eyes shifted to the side, and his head hit the stage hard.

He could faintly see the larger aircraft above, waiting. Everything faded to black.

 **WILLOW CLARK**

The next thing Willow knew, she was lying under the sheets on a firm bed, and the air was cool and sweet.

She tried to sit up, but her head felt stuffed. Her throat ached, and her limbs felt like lead. She moaned and tried to turn over.

"There you are." A gentle female voice said, patting her shoulder. "You took quite a hit to the head back there."

There was the faint _whirr_ of the hospital-style bed moving into a sitting position. Willow felt a cool, long-fingered hand on the back of her neck, and then a glass was placed at her lips.

The liquid was warm and sweet. She felt her head clear, and each swallow was less and less painful than the last.

Willow opened her eyes.

She was on a hovercraft, she realized, although she had never been in one before. The room was windowless and like a hospital's, but much nicer than that of the hospital wing back at camp, with dark rugs and a picture of a middle-aged woman on the wall opposite.

Her eyes travelled to the one sitting beside her. They were the same, and she looked exceedingly familiar to Willow. The woman's hair was a deep blue and arranged in a style conservative for the Capitol, elaborate for the Districts, with braids artfully wrapped around her head. Her gown was black and cut in sharp angles, ending below the knees in a way that was slightly matronly, and a pendant of the Capitol seal sat comfortably at her throat.

A dozen questions ran through Willow's mind. She looked at the glass.

"What _was_ that?"

"Medicine." The woman said. "The gas is not good for a girl about to be in the situation you are."

Willow's heart jolted.

"Was the gas—"

"No, it was not lethal."

The woman poured her more medicine. Willow refused it. It was starting to leave a sickly sweet aftertaste in her mouth.

The woman pressed it sharply into her hand.

"Drink." She said quietly, yet there was something of danger in her voice that caused Willow to slowly bring the glass to her mouth.

She swallowed, about to ask another question.

"There was a rebellion in Seven. It has all been taken care of." The woman cut her off. "That was a very brave thing you did back there. Who is Yiangliu Laoying to you? A lover, perhaps?"

"N—no! She's my best friend." There was something in this woman's eyes that made everything seem like a secret, yet that also made her impossible to lie to. "I wanted to protect her and I guess she wanted the same—we still have to go in, don't we?"

"Indeed." The woman cracked a smile as she said this. "Now that I've verified that you're okay, I will go check on her."

"What's going to happen in Seven?" Willow asked when the woman had always reached the door. "Are there more rebels? Will the president go there soon?"

The woman paused with her hand on the doorknob.

"All the rebels will be dead by the time we reach the Capitol. And the president already has."

"What do you mean?"

She glanced back at Willow, smiling to reveal silver, pointed teeth.

"I am President Shorn."

She left with that, shutting off the lights behind her.


	13. District Eight Reapings and Goodbyes

District Eight

 **CHARLOTTE FLANNEL**

It was a bright morning in District Eight, unlike the grey cloud that seemed to cover most of Panem on that day. The sun did nothing to combat the cold, and in the narrow factory streets of District Eight, an icy wind blew the discarded bits of cloth and yarn around like a blizzard.

The Flannel family's shop stood near the square at the center of the town, the front door opening into a clean, well-kempt street and the windows showing a small but shiny storefront, for those who could afford it. The walls of the back rooms were papered with sketches of designs, and the army of mannequins drowned in fabric and thread. The orders they sent back to the Capitol even rivaled District One's in quality.

Charlotte chewed the end of her pencil. The light from the window illuminated the luxurious ball gown on the paper—a commission from some rich Capitol lady attending the opening of _next_ year's Hunger Games. She finally put it down, going to lower the drapes halfway. She could keep working on the dress when she got back from the Reaping.

And she _would_ come back, Charlotte thought with certainty. Thanks to the successful family business, she had not had to take out a single tesserae.

Her long braid swinging over her shoulder, Charlotte got up and moved over to the door, looking out into the round room full of mannequins. One was on a pedestal in the middle, a long, purple gown with a large slit up the side, under which the fabric looked like a galaxy. A last minute order, for yet another Hunger Games gala.

Two younger girls were working on it—her sister, Lucy, her mirror image except shorter, and Bian, and new seamstress they had hired.

"Lucy?" Charlotte caught her attention with a wave of her hand. "Come on. We still have until this evening to get this order out, and we should get dressed for the Reaping."

Lucy looked to Bian.

"Go on." Bian's black hair concealed most of her face as she spoke, a pin clenched between her teeth. Her hands did not stop working, nor did she look up. "I'm not dressing up."

She caught Charlotte's eye briefly. Charlotte looked away. Bian was from a dirt poor neighborhood in Eight, and she knew her parents had only hired her out of pity. Both of Bian's parents were long disappeared, and there were many whispers about their dissent against the Capitol.

Personally, Charlotte thought that there was no way Bian was not involved in her parent's actions, and that she should have been arrested as well. But there was no way around her parent's decision.

Charlotte helped Lucy into her dress, and Lucy hers. Charlotte had designed both of them. The pale pink fabric was the same color as the blush in her cheeks.

"The button's coming off." Charlotte noticed as she fastened Lucy's dress. "Hold on, I'll get a needle."

She stepped out into the back of the shop again, where Bian was still hard at work, bent over the box of supplies in the corner. She glanced over her shoulder as she heard Charlotte's stockings on the wood floor, and jumped.

Charlotte saw her quickly stash something away in her apron pocket.

"Did you just steal something?"

Even Charlotte was surprised at how stern her voice sounded. Bian turned towards her fully, shaking her head.

Charlotte crossed the room, holding out her hand. The other girl stood still, one hand cautiously guarding the front pocket of her apron.

"What would I have stolen?" she stalled.

"I'm sure anything in here is worth a few coins down—down where you live."

Bian appeared like a deer in headlights. She looked back and forth, before slowly taking out a pincushion and placing it in Charlotte's hand.

"Right. My father will hear about this," Charlotte pocketed it herself.

Bian simply ducked her head and got back to work on the dress.

Charlotte paused, wondering what she was there for. She could hear her parents bickering in the room opposite.

"They say there's been a rebellion in Seven—"

"You're always picking up some kind of gossip somewhere, aren't you?"

"It's not gossip. I'm telling you, there was a riot."

"We _just_ watched Seven's reaping on television. I think we would have noticed a riot."

"You know what they're capable of hiding…"

Charlotte shook herself back into her own situation. A needle and thread, that was all she needed.

Her eyes flickered back to Bian, who was struggling to attach a glittering star decal to the dress.

"You're doing it wrong." Charlotte snatched the decal and fastened it herself, before heading back into the room where Lucy was waiting.

 **BIAN TENG**

Bian stared at her employer's daughter in shock as she shut the door behind her.

She had had her hand on the weapon, and had not noticed. The star decal glittered innocently on the dress, just over the heart.

The dress was meant to go to the niece of President Shorn. At the moment where she would get up to speak at the gala for the Capitol's highest society, the first night the tributes were in the arena, all the twists and folds of silver that gave the ornament it's unique shine would suddenly unfurl, plunging in straight into her heart.

Not only was it a statement, it was double sabotage. The weapon would lead the investigators back to this shop, thus taking out one of the District's most Capitol-oriented families. The assassination of Lycantha Shorn would bring trade between the Capitol and the Districts to it's knees.

She strung beads onto the shoulder of the dress as she thought, not noticing the man who had appeared at the small window behind her.

He tapped once, and then disappeared.

Bian slowly stood up, trying not to show a reaction. She took off her apron and, bustling around for a minute to try to make it look like she was leaving of her own accord, slipped out through the back door.

She saw the man turn the corner, and not speeding up, walked that way, pausing to kick a knot of yarn like a soccer ball.

He leaned against a wall down an alley, away from prying eyes. Bian walked carefully to meet him.

"We have to leave. Now." He muttered, not looking at her.

"The dress isn't finished, if someone else packs it—"

"We've been found out."

Bian felt the blood drain from her face.

"How?"

"Prisoners from the riot in Seven gave up their information very quickly to avoid torture, sources say." Her partner lit up a cigarette. She did not know his name, or he hers, as a matter of safety. "Did you get a delivery this morning?"

"Buttons and zippers."

"Cameras and microphones, more like." He blew his smoke into the air. "They've seen the weapon, had their hands on it and everything last night. The one you put on is a fake. They're trying to see who in the shop the traitor was."

Bian tried to stop her heart from racing.

"What now?"

"There's a van for you. The man's been paid to take you to Twelve." More smoke billowed up in a cloud. "South Street."

"And you?"

"Don't worry about me. I have my own way out."

Bian nodded, and headed out of the alley. She noticed Peacekeepers waving people into the square.

The Reaping.

 _Shit_.

Bian looked around. There was nowhere else to go that wasn't a dead end. The trickle of people into the square had turned into a river, to walk against it would get her noticed in an instant.

So she moved with them, into the square, hoping with everything in her that the van would still be waiting after, and that there would be an after.

 **LYCANTHA SHORN**

"There it is." Granger pointed the little ornament out on the screen.

Lycantha raised her eyebrows at him. She had wanted to come to Eight to see the capture of her would-be assassins. Granger, her third cousin, was the tribute escort, so it was no problem for her to discreetly join his transport.

She was dressed as smartly as her aunt, with her long black hair swept back and high-collared red blouse making her look like some sort of vampire.

"There's two of them." Lycantha watched one of the assassins snatch the ornament from the other and affix it to the dress. "Didn't the informant say there was one planted in the shop?"

"Yes, well." Granger shrugged. "Plans change, and perhaps this informant did not know everything. Anyway, there they are."

"And _who_ are they?"

"Charlotte Flannel, daughter of two entrepreneurs, her family was believed to be loyal to the Capitol. And Bian Teng, seamstress. She's nobody."

Lycantha stood back for a moment, a hand at her sharp chin, considering.

"Mr Shorn, you're on in five."

"Change of plans." Lycantha held up her hand. "I'm going on."

The woman paused, looking from her to Granger in confusion. Out of the corner of Lycantha's eye, she saw him nod his consent.

So it was her that stepped out in front of the crowd, and gave a very special opening announcement—a little excerpt from her speech that she was definitely going to live to deliver.

"And now for our first tribute!" She smiled, turning to the bowl.

A piece of paper came out in her hand, and she did not bother to look at it as she opened it.

"Charlotte Flannel."

The crowd parted, and she saw the pale girl from the video arriving, her arms held tight to her sides like a soldiers. She faced her with a smile, holding out a red-nailed hand to shake, which Charlotte did, stiffly.

Still, Lycantha could tell that Charlotte did not recognize her. Pity. Well, she would soon enough.

Lycantha smoothly turned back to the bowl. This time, she did not even bother to unfold the paper.

"Bian Teng?"

The girl came up to the stage much more slowly. She seemed to be in shock, her narrow brown eyes open and staring. A strand of hair fell across her face, so much like Lycantha's own.

 **CHARLOTTE FLANNEL**

Charlotte sat in the visiting room and waited.

She waited for a very long time, but the room remained silent and empty except for her. At one point, she rose to open the door a crack.

"Are you looking to go to the train early?" the Peacekeeper guard asked.

"I'm wondering when my family will be let in."

"When they arrive, provided there's still time left."

He forcibly shut the door. Now Charlotte began to pace.

If visiting was within the rules, then of course her parents would come. But they were not here. And as much as she tried to think logically, Charlotte could not come up with a reason where they would be okay and would not be here.

The door opened, and a young man entered. His hair was wet, and he reeked of cigarette smoke.

Charlotte sat in confusion as he approached and kissed her forehead.

She was about to push him off in anger, when he whispered "do nothing."

That caused her to freeze, as much as taking orders from this kind of stranger in this situation was the last thing she wanted to do.

"My love," he said to her, staring deep into her eyes. "I am so, so sorry that this has happened to you. I will think of you every moment you are gone."

 _I have never seen you before in my life._

She felt him slide something into her pocket before breaking the look, kissing her once more and leaving.

She knew better than to read the note in the visiting room. On the train, she excused herself to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door.

There were hopefully no cameras in here. Charlotte unfolded the note, reading it with her lips moving silently.

 _C.F—_

 _Your parents and sister are safe with us. You have been accidentally implicated in an assassination attempt against the niece of the President. For obvious reasons, we cannot include any more specifics about us or our location in this message._

 _You have nothing to lose. You will be close to her over the next few days. There is still time. You can make one last mark on history, and the rebellion will remember you for as long as we exist, win or lose._

 _They will be listening. Do not discuss with B.T._

There was no signature. Charlotte crumpled up the note, and flushed it down the toilet.


	14. Notice Regarding Late Updates

To my readers- I would like to apologize greatly for the series of late updates lately. District Nine's reaping should be out over the next few days. The busy part of my year ends in a week, so I hope to return to a regular updating schedule then :)

Thank you for your patience, and hoping this finds you well,

\- Fialanech


	15. District Nine Reapings and Train

**LEMMY SAMARA**

It was warm in the early morning in District Nine. The windmill on the horizon was still, and there was no sign of the chaos that was happening in the other districts.

If it were not for the Capitol seal engraved on the cobblestones of the square and the Peacekeepers pacing about, one might have mistaken the place for a farm town over a hundred years ago, long before the rise of the Capitol. The screen being set up for the Reaping billowed white like a sail before being fastened into place.

There would be no tractors or workers in the field that day. The corn was the same color as the sunlight, rippling softly in the breeze.

Lemmy opened her bedroom door and peeked out. Her father was passed out on the couch, the smell of whiskey wafting faintly over to her.

She quietly slipped her feet into her shoes and took her straw hat from the hook by the door, which she shut quietly behind her.

The fields were deserted except for a gaggle of children gathering around the scarecrow in the middle. Lemmy waded towards them, being careful not to damage the corn stalks. A tractor sat silent a few feet away.

"Is everyone here?" she asked Maisie Pearl importantly.

Maisie, a small girl with wispy blonde hair counted the children quickly. She was the second oldest besides Lemmy, but was always surrounded by the little ones, having repeated so many grades she knew most of them.

"Alright, listen up!" she shouted. The children gathered around them, a mass of sun-kissed hair and faces vibrating with excitement. "We have to decide who's _it,_ or we won't get to finish our game in time for the Reaping!"

"How are we going to decide?" a small boy asked.

Lemmy paused.

"Nose game!" she shouted.

All the children raced to touch their noses at once. Maisie was the last. She groaned.

"Okay, turn around." Lemmy held up both hands.

She drummed her fingers on Maisie's back.

"Okay, stop!"

Lemmy held up the last finger that had been touching.

"Count to twenty!"

Maisie turned around with a sigh, covering her eyes, though Lemmy could see she was smiling.

"One… two…"

The children vanished into the corn with excited squeals. Lemmy ran after them, hardly aware of the Capitol train in the station or the flag being raised in the square.

 **MAISIE PEARL**

"Nineteen… twenty!"

She turned around, the stalks quiet and rustling in the wind now.

"Ready or not, here I come!"

Maisie pushed her way into the stalks, a little more clumsily than a lot of adults would have liked. In fact, not many adults would have liked her being there.

"You're too old to go running out in the corn with the little ones," her mother had told her a few days ago over breakfast.

"Lemmy still goes out."

"Lemmy has nothing else to do but take care of the children, poor thing," her mother looked out the window at the house overlooking the graveyard across the street. "That father of hers…"

Maisie's mother had looked back at her then.

"You should study more," she chided again, placing a pile of heavy books on the table.

Maisie wrinkled her nose just at the thought of it. She had repeated a grade more than once, the first and most embarrassing having been Grade Four.

There wasn't much point anyway, if she was just going to become a farmer, Maisie thought as she made her way through the cornfield. She had always known she'd become a farmer, like everyone else.

Someone giggled a few feet to her right. Maisie suddenly pushed a few stalks aside to see a small boy crouched on the ground, his straw hat falling over his eyes.

"Got you!" she tagged him.

"Aww…" the boy got up and ran back towards the scarecrow.

She found a narrow path through the corn then, and spotted a two girls sneaking out onto it from the other side.

They shrieked when they saw her, and Maisie chased them further and further from the scarecrow, laughing.

They stopped short at the sound of a loud horn being blown from back in the square.

"Is it time to go in already?" one of the little girls asked Maisie as she caught up to them.

Maisie looked up. The sun was still in the east. It couldn't have been time for the Reaping _already…_

"We should go back," she said.

They returned to the scarecrow, where Lemmy was waiting with most of the others.

"What's going on?" Maisie asked.

"They blew the horn."

"I know _that…_ "

"It must be later than we thought," Lemmy shrugged.

Maisie could see that her normally pale face was white. Now the children were milling about nervously as the last few joined them. Most of them had sisters in the Reaping, she realized.

A small girl hugged her around the waist, and then Maisie realized that _she_ was in the Reaping as well.

"Come on, everyone!" Lemmy said once all were accounted for. "We have to go in…"

Still in their pack, but a lot less joyously, the children traipsed back into the town, where the townspeople had started to file towards the square.

"Maisie!" She spotted her mother in the crowd, and ran over to her. "What were you doing, out in the field? Do you know what would have happened if you hadn't been in on time?"

Maisie's mother gave her a kiss on the cheek before she could answer, holding her hand tightly. The rest of the children were reuniting with their parents. Maisie could see Lemmy on the outskirts, alone.

A Peacekeeper had taken up the microphone on the stage as the people muttered confusedly.

"Again," he was saying. "We don't know why the horn was blown so early. The Reaping is not for another hour and a half. Please remain here for safety, and we will try to set up as quickly as possible. We are looking for the culprit."

Maisie watched as a man in a black Capitolian uniform emerged from backstage and whispered quickly in the Peacekeeper's ear. Both quickly disappeared backstage.

 **XAVIER ROURKE**

"What is going on?" Peacekeeper Rourke demanded.

"Come on." The other glanced around, towing Rourke by his sleeve. The Peacekeeper tore his arm out of his grip, stopping just backstage.

"I want to know what this is about."

"I'll tell you when we get out of earshot." The head of security, Sirien Valentine, glanced around, tugging the taller man behind a curtain and lowering his voice. "We think there are rebels among the District officials."

Rourke stared at him.

"Why?"

Valentine looked over Rourke's shoulder. The past victors had been rounded up and detained ten meters away. They argued heatedly with the Peacekeepers, paced nervously, or sat, staring blankly.

"You!" Valentine called as two Peacekeepers went marching past. "Tell Salacia to go ahead with the draw _immediately._ But do not let the people leave afterwards."

The Peacekeepers nodded and jogged off to meet a woman in red, fixing her lipstick behind another curtain.

"What I am about to tell you is top secret," Valentine whispered, drawing Rourke's attention back onto himself. "We are having our greatest crisis in fifty years, and the president would prefer it _remained_ as secretive as it is."

"What is it?!" Rourke demanded.

"We have a full insurrection in Seven!" Valentine suddenly blurted out. He was barely five and a half feet tall, but his pudgy body seemed to shake with energy. "We have rebels captured in Three and Eight, a tribute attacked the escort in Five, a tribute in Four was just revealed to be the granddaughter of a traitor—one of Snow's traitors! In Six, we were made fools of in front of the entire nation when wanted criminals we've been pursuing for _years_ decided to offer themselves up!"

Rourke laughed. He couldn't help it.

"Stop that!" Valentine smacked him in the chest, as high as he could reach. Rourke's bulletproof vest made a dull thud, and he laughed again. "This is an emergency!"

"What would you have me do?" Rourke wiped his eyes and asked.

"Gather your squadron!" Valentine almost screeched. So much for being quiet- heads were starting to turn. "Tear this place apart! If I don't have something to show when they come here…"

He wrung his hands, vibrating, and Rourke thought he was going to explode. He put a hand on the smaller man's shoulder, steadying him somewhat.

"I'll see what I can do. Do we even know if rebels are _here?"_

"I don't know," Valentine shuddered. "I just got a message from the president."

He looked up at Rourke, and now the expression on his face was less amusing. The tall guard's face fell.

"I had them blow the horn," Valentine admitted. "She's on her way."

 **MAISIE PEARL**

Maisie shivered on the stage next to Lemmy, but the day hadn't gotten colder.

Peacekeepers were surrounding the confused, shouting crowd. Salacia Prosper pulled out a compact and checked her reflection.

The girls hadn't let go of each other since they were told to shake hands. Maisie rested her head on Lemmy's shoulder, holding back tears. She almost wished they would bring them backstage soon, so she wouldn't have to stand there with everyone looking at her any longer—

And for a minute, she almost dared to hope that the delay was caused by a mix-up in the lottery, and that her and her friend had actually been chosen by mistake.

She could see her mother in the crowd, her hands over her mouth and her face pale. Maisie couldn't tell if she was crying.

From her vantage point on the stage, she could see the wheat field, gently rippling in the wind. It looked a lot duller now than it had an hour ago.

There was a flash, and someone shouted. The wheat stalks burst into flames.

The crowd on the ground in the square couldn't see the fire, but they could see the black smoke carrying their livelihoods upwards. Lemmy started, and Maisie let go of her hand, running to the edge of the stage.

"Why—"

She didn't know what she planned to do when she got there, and wouldn't have had the chance. The crowd was in uproar, and a Peacekeeper shot into the air, to no effect.

Two Peacekeepers took Maisie on either side, lifting her off her feet and carrying her backstage. She could see Lemmy being hauled along in front of her.

"Madam President, I assure you, the situation is well under control—" a very short man was assuring a graceful woman with midnight-blue hair.

"And the reason the fields are on fire is…?"

"Our sonar system revealed that rebels may have been using them to hide."

She turned and walked towards where Maisie and Lemmy were being held, the man following her and sputtering his explanations.

A chill ran down Maisie's spine. The president's eyes and smile were somewhat fixed, and her shoes made a _clack_ on the floor even over the chaos outside.

"No volunteers?" she asked, and didn't wait for an answer. "Good."

She briefly stopped in front of Maisie, bending down to look at her.

Maisie stared back as much as she could, but she felt her face crumple, and struggled in the Peacekeeper's firm grip. The President turned away a moment later.

"I'm declaring martial law," she announced out loud. "I want every volunteer this year investigated, and the families of every tribute taken into custody."

Panicked, Maisie looked to Lemmy, who was strangely stone-faced.

"Take the tributes to my hovercraft, but send the train off as if they were on board." Shorn said over her shoulder as she left, the short man trailing behind her. "If the rebels attack it, I want them alive."

 **LEMMY SAMARA**

The salon of the hovercraft was Shorn's personality exemplified in interior design. The walls were a pale grey, but so clean it was luxurious in Lemmy's eyes. There were no windows, and the light came from glittering crystal lamps along the walls. The seats were leather, red and black. Salacia deposited Lemmy and Maisie inside, stepping outside the door immediately.

"I trust you'll not start a rebellion in here over the next ten minutes?" she asked sarcastically.

"No." Lemmy's throat felt sore and scratchy.

The tribute escort nodded, leaving with a flip of blonde hair over her shoulders. Maisie leaned in.

"I don't think she's going to be much help."

"Willow?!"

Another girl ran out of a door across the room, wearing a red tunic and leggings. There was a white bandage across her forehead, contrasting sharply with her black bangs.

"Oh," she stopped. "I thought…."

Lemmy played with her straw hat, clutched in two hands.

"I—I'm Maisie." The younger girl extended her hand.

The other shook it quickly. She was a head taller than either of the others, and a few years older.

"Yiangliu Laoying. District Seven," Their visitor said. "And… you are?"

She looked at Lemmy. Lemmy slowly looked up, to see that she was smiling kindly.

"Lemmy Samara," she mumbled.

"Where are we?" Yiangliu demanded. "District Eight? Nine?"

At that moment, the hovercraft shook.

"I think we're taking off," Lemmy finally spoke up. The plates on the table were rattled briefly, before the shaking was replaced by a slow _whirr._

"That's happened a few times." Yiangliu nodded.

She paced away, running her hands through her hair in desperation.

"Where is Willow? They said she was in the medical wing, but no one will tell me _anything_ -"

She looked back to the younger girls.

"You're from Nine, aren't you? What's happening?"

"There's some sort of rebell-" Lemmy stopped. "I don't know what's happening."

"Listen," Maisie finally spoke up. "Your friend must be alive—they can't have the Games without twenty-four tributes, right?"

Yiangliu nodded, but the expression on her face didn't change.

"Our districts are in uprising. They're not going to let any one of us survive this."

Lemmy's heart dropped.

"We have a chance…"

She could hear Maisie trying to sound optimistic. Yiangliu smiled, and looked back at them.

"It'll be easier as a team, won't it?"

"You want an alliance?" Maisie asked.

"I need an alliance," Yiangliu replied. She looked back at the door. "I need—I can't go in here alone."


	16. District 10 Reapings

**(Author's note—about the "goodbyes" section—this section isn't always useful for expanding the story, especially when the tribute's family is not essential to their story/development. For this reason, I've decided to only include it when it is helpful to the plotline from now on. Other times will have train/hovercraft scenes, and sometimes this scene will be omitted entirely, with the extra word count added to the tribute's scenes elsewhere in the chapter. Each tribute will still occupy the same amount of words in the story as they always would. Thank you for your understanding.)**

 **PRESIDENT SHORN**

The conference room aboard the hovercraft was massive and bare, the white lights from the ceiling reflecting off the white table and the white chairs. The white walls gleamed, and Shorn in her black clothing looked very out of place.

She clicked her metal teeth as she shuffled through a stack of photos on the table in front of her. They were the school pictures of Reaping-aged females in District Ten, with names and profiles on the back.

No one knew that this file existed for every District. Sometimes, the Games needed to go a certain way. Their whole purpose was, at least in Shorn's mind, to send a message to the Districts. Sometimes they needed special tributes for that.

The outer Districts were causing the most trouble. The rebels' cell in 3 had never even gotten started at any open destruction. District Ten needed some good examples to set them straight.

Peacekeepers were already swarming the District on motorcycles and tapping phone lines, looking for any hint about if and when the rebels would strike there. This needed to be quashed, quickly.

"Madam President," her assistant Jannik entered the room, hands folded nervously behind his back. "The Peacekeepers have found no sign of rebels in District Ten."

"Tell them to keep looking," Shorn murmured. She suddenly looked up. "Jannik?"

"President Shorn?"

"You saw the arena a few weeks back, did you not?" she asked. "Tell me about it."

Jannik suddenly looked very uncomfortable. Shorn narrowed her eyes.

"Jannik—"

"Coule wants it to be a surprise," Jannik protested.

The two stared each other down for a long moment.

"Hm," Shorn finally said. "Tell me what sort of tributes I need."

"For what, madam?"

"For a proper Hunger Games that runs smoothly and gives the District someone to root for."

Jannik bit his inner cheek, considering.

"The climate is harsh. The monsters are—strange. The tribute's families may be implicated."

Shorn shuffled through the photos again. She set one aside, and then picked it up along with another, holding them up to face Jannik.

"These."

"Are you sure, madam?"

"These are the ones," she repeated.

Jannik took the photos in both hands.

"I'll take them to the Reaping committee right away."

He turned and left, the white doors sliding shut behind him.

 **MAIRE STALLION**

Maire shielded her eyes from the sun, stretching high from the back of her bike to look out to the road.

Peacekeeper's motorcycles sped by in formation, the white of their uniforms in strange contrast to the dark dirt road and green pastures. The sheep stirred from the noise, milling about restlessly.

Maire was suddenly reminded of where her attention should be, and refocused on them. She had only lost two sheep in her entire shepherding career, and then only when she was small. She wasn't about to change that now.

A white ewe spooked from the noise and broke away from the flock. Maire leapt into action, pedaling quickly to the other side of the flock after the ewe, cutting her off and prodding her with the crook back into the fold almost tenderly. The sheep's coats were getting heavy. Soon it would be time to shear them.

Up and down the rolling pastures, there were other white masses—all that the flocks were from a distance, and the shepherds were specks. Maire's father owned hundreds of sheep, but she was the head shepherd, and her flock was the largest of all.

"Maire!"

The rusted grey jeep rumbled across the rolling hills, causing the sheep to lift their heads nervously. It halted twenty feet away, and Maire's father jumped out, onto the ground.

She smiled at him slightly as he approached where she perched on her bike, leaning against the tree that gave her shade. Her surveyed the sheep not as one would look upon their possessions, but as an artist would look upon their work.

"I've been thinking," he looked at her without further greeting. "Once you leave school at the end of this year, and you can work full-time, I was going to buy the Morris farm up the hill."

Maire's eyes widened.

"Just the land, or…?"

"Morris is eighty years old, Maire, what is he going to do with a hundred sheep?"

"Where will you get the money?!"

"We have the money from this year's shipment of wool," he reminded her. "Oh, I almost forgot—"

Maire stared as he retrieved something from a bag over his shoulder. The Morris farm had a small herd, with a breed of sheep with soft white wool, much prized for the clothing of the wealthy in District One—or even the Capitol.

He pulled a yellow coat out of the bag, made of the same soft, fine wool. Maire's jaw dropped.

"It's beautiful," she reached for it. The fabric was light in her hands, not fraying at all like the rest of her clothing.

"You've earned it," he gave her a rare smile. "Besides, we're on the up now."

Her father took her face in both of his hands.

"Everything will be different now, I promise."

Maire nodded, hugging the coat in her arms. The future sparkled ahead, and the Reaping seemed to be only a minor inconvenience.

 **APATE PENDRAGON**

Apate Pendragon watched the Peacekeepers on their motorcycles ride by in their tight V formation. A few trucks followed them, rustling the tall grass in the fields.

The Pendragon house was on the corner in between the town and the dirt road that led off into the pastures, just inside the gates of Victor Village. It was a fine house for an outer district, and the dirtiness of the rest of the district and town seemed to stop at the door.

Apate's computer beeped. She leaned over by the window ledge where it sat, pulling it onto her lap and opening the top.

 _-REAPING STARTED?_ the singular message said, from a username that was nothing but a keysmash of letters and numbers.

Apate signed in to respond. She clicked on the message, and a blank, unlabelled chat window popped up.

 _-NOT YET. 2 HOURS._

The "typing" indicator swirled on the screen. Apate moved her cursor, thinking the computer had frozen up, before the message finally appeared on the screen.

 _-TWINS REAPED._

Apate's eyebrows shot up. She carried the laptop out into the living room, turning on the TV.

A recap of the Reapings so far was on. When the screen changed to District Six, she watched unemotionally.

The twins had volunteered. Her stone face changed to a smile.

She looked down at the latest message from Bruno.

 _-U THERE BABE?_

 _-YES. WHAT SHOULD I DO?_

Bruno and the Saveras were her father's morphling dealers—or rather, the suppliers of the dealers in District 10. He was a wealthy victor, and knew them well enough that they had helped push Apate's modeling career in exchange for his hefty investments in their business. And in his rare visits to 10, Bruno had taken a special interest in Apate.

She had never liked older men much, but he was an exception. He was rich, relatively handsome, and willing to pay for everything she wanted when he was around—an arrangement that suited Apate perfectly.

 _-DON'T WORRY BABE._

He was also trusting enough that on top of his buying her lovely clothes for her to wear about (and the computer she was using) Bruno never noticed Apate skimming a few extra funds off of the transactions she ran for him. At least, he never spoke up about it. She knew the twin Kyva must know, and both girls looked at her with ice-cold faces when they communicated over the screen of the computer, but Apate didn't care. As long as Bruno was between them, the twins had no power over her. She was totally safe.

She knew they were pulling the wool over his eyes as well, but it did not bother her so much. The twins would never get by without him, as stupid as he was. They wouldn't dare do anything to take him out.

 _-WHERE IS THE MONEY?_

 _-TOO MANY PEACEKEEPERS. REBELS ON THE LOOSE. WILL TELL MORE AFTER THE REAPING._

Her computer made a slightly sad beep as he logged off. Apate pouted.

She pulled her coat from the back of the chair and made her way out of the door.

Her father was influential enough in 10 as a victor that he was tied up for most of the day of the Reaping. Apate started to wander into the less wealthy part of town, noticing that most of the young women had been pulled off the streets. She supposed their parents wanted to spend more time with them before there was a chance of the unimaginable—

Apate paused to observe her reflection in a parked car's side mirror. She figured that her blonde hair would need another style change soon. It was starting to look long, touching the shoulders of her stylish red leather jacket.

Apate blinked, looking into the mirror a bit more closely. A Peacekeeper in a motorcycle sped down from the street behind her, alone. There was also a man in an unassuming brown suit, who paused to kneel and tie his shoe when she'd stopped.

She blinked away the uneasy feeling and started walking again, shaking her hair over her shoulder. Over the tops of the brick buildings of the inner town she could see the large screens of the main square, showing the District and Capitol's symbols on a loop.

Apate spotted a homeless-looking man sitting on the curb, something clutched in both his hands. She approached quickly, her high heels clicking on the pavement.

"Where did you get that?" she bent down, poking him with a manicured nail. His hands parted slightly, showing a morphling vial, half empty. "From Scorpio? Funny that we haven't had a shipment in in two months, right?"

She tried to pry his hands apart more to see the shape of the vial, but he suddenly shut them quickly, stashing the morphling in his pocket.

"Look," he mumbled.

"What?"

"P'keeper."

Apate straightened up and looked around again.

"There's no Peacekeeper." The toe of her heel ground into the front of the man's sneaker, and he whimpered.

He pointed again, and Apate looked in that direction. The man in the brown suit had stopped again, this time staring intently at some ads posted on a wall.

The man she'd cornered jumped up and scurried away. Apate cursed silently, deciding not to go after him. She tossed another glance at the man in the brown suit, starting to walk faster again.

She looked in the reflection of a store window. He was following her again, and picking up speed as she did.

Apate uncomfortably turned to start moving towards the square early, thinking at least it would be easier to lose him with people around. Her jeweled switchblade, also a gift from Bruno, was in her purse, but she'd rather not pull it out here.

The square was almost in sight, and Apate kept walking faster and faster, not looking back anymore. She had no idea whether the man was still following her, or whether he even was following her in the first place.

There was suddenly the patter of sneakers on the pavement, and someone slammed into the side of Apate with the force of a dump truck. Both tumbled to the ground.

"I-I'm sorry!" the other girl gasped. Her face was red as if she'd just run for her life.

Apate tottered to her feet, dusting herself off disgustedly. The other girl had a mop of red hair and bright green eyes. She pushed herself to her feet.

"Someone was following me," the girl explained.

Apate's mouth opened slowly, and then closed.

"Am I supposed to care?" she snapped.

The other girl's eyes narrowed.

"Thought you'd want to know why I bowled you over," she said with a shepherd's accent.

The other girl turned on her heel, about to walk back up the street from whence Apate came. Suddenly the white glove of a Peacekeeper reached out, connecting with her shoulder.

"We ask that you girls both enter the square at this time," he said shortly.

"What-" Apate looked around. A Peacekeeper had parked his motorcycle halfway down the street she had arrived from and was watching them intently. Another came up beside the one who'd spoken. The white uniforms were inconspicuously cropping up everywhere she looked.

"Hey, it isn't time yet!" the redhead shrugged a Peackeeper off angrily. "We still have an hour and a half!"

"Due to security concerns relating to this year's Quarter Quell, we ask that both of you enter the square immediately," the Peacekeeper repeated in the same monotone voice.

Apate glanced at the redhead out of the corner of her eye.

They entered the almost empty square, not looking at one another.

 **FRAULINE GROTH**

Frauline scanned the crowd as she stepped out onto the stage in District Ten.

She hardly heard her own opening remarks, watching the bowl on the stage out of the corner of her eye.

She had not been announced as Frauline Anders.

The loudspeakers said the name "Cylindra Derin". Thoroughly Capitolite. And Cylindra Derin was a mirror image of Frauline—same curly red hair, green eyes, and sharp chin.

Frauline was Cylindra's double, hand-picked from the masses of District Two. Normally she just followed the district escort's party as Cylindra's official understudy for every official occasion. She knew, theoretically, that she could one day be called up as Cylindra's replacement if there was ever any danger of an assassination.

It had never happened. And Frauline reminded herself over and over of the benefits of the job—the brilliant pay, all the food she could eat and a cushy bed every night. As far as she was concerned, her family was smoothly sailing into the Capitol's favor, and she was steering the ship.

So one could imagine her surprise to see Cylindra suddenly pulled from the makeup chair that morning and ushered away, and herself dumped in place. The artists used plaster and contouring to close the differences between their faces.

Frauline had practiced Cylindra's voice. She knew the opening remarks well, looking out over the worn-out dirty faces of District 10.

She reminded herself that she might as well be a Capitolite. They weren't _her_ people, not anymore.

She pulled out the first sheet of paper.

"Apate Pendragon."

The crowd stirred as a blonde girl peeled herself away from the candidate's section, striding up to the front of the stage. Frauline watched without much sympathy.

"Maire Stallion."

There was a loud gasp, and then a sob. The Peacekeepers convened on a tall, redheaded girl, but she did not resist them as they led her up to the stage, wiping her eyes.

Frauline stared at them both as they shook hands. It was easy to see why Shorn had chosen them. District 10 had not a chance this year but to see exactly what would happen to the rest of them should they revolt as the other outer districts did.


End file.
